Golden Locks
by TheArtlessRose
Summary: Seven-year-old Beatrice asks her mother about the boy they call Marcus' son. Seven later, he makes his choice: to leave her, his best friend, the girl who loves him. Now, she has to make her choice. One choice that decides her friends, her beliefs, her loyalties forever... one choice that transforms her. What will follow for the girl who won't be called Beatrice anymore? On Hiatus
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Divergent. Divergent is the property of Veronica Roth, and is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain from this, nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only. I do not own anything that bears a resemblance to Divergent or any other story on this site.**

 **Warning: This story contains gore and violence. Mentions of character death and suicide. Possibly graphic.**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

"Mama?" She turns around, and I can see her holding a rag and wiping the dust off a pair of scissors. They haven't been touched in three months.

She walks over to me and messes around with the cabinet that I am sitting in front of. "Yes, Beatrice?" Mama slides open a keypad and presses a few numbers. My eyes trail her movements, just like they do every time.

5-2-7-6-3. The cabinet slides open to reveal my face.

My appearance hasn't changed much in the last three months, really; it's just me. I don't notice how long my nose is, or how my eyes are practically the size of my fist. No, I don't notice those things until later. Right now, I can be a kid.

She should block the code from my view, but she doesn't. If I wanted to, I could cheat and see my reflection anytime.

Still, I never look until it's time for my haircut.

"Beatrice?" I stop looking at myself and turn to Mama, remembering that I want to ask her a question. I know I shouldn't — curiosity is selfish — but I can't help myself. If I ask a question at school, the kids mock me and call me Erudite. If I say nothing, they call me Stiff. I have noticed that every time someone calls Caleb an Erudite, he cries, but he doesn't mind being called Stiff. I used to think it was because he didn't think of Stiff as an insult, since it tied him to Abnegation. He's always been Abnegation through and through, like he was born for it.

Right, school. Even though he is still in the age group of kids that go to school, there is one kid who never does. "Mama, you said that Marcus has a son, right?" Marcus is the Abnegation leader. He's just left our home after having dinner with Papa; Mama tells me they work together for the city council. Papa's been sad lately when he comes home from work, and no one will tell me why. I think Caleb knows. Caleb knows everything.

She runs her fingers through my blonde hair and grabs a toothy comb — it's black and has the letter N engraved in it, for Mama's name. Mama said it was from grandma. I never met grandma. "Yes, Beatrice. Marcus has a son." I notice she doesn't scold me for asking a question.

"What is his name?" I fiddle with the skirt of my plain, grey robe and try not to imagine a pink princess dress with puffy sleeves and sparkles like in the books Caleb reads to me before bed sometimes. He told me not to tell Mama, because then he will have to stop. I don't tell her.

Mama pries my hands away from the fabric, and I hold them in my lap like a proper girl. No fidgeting. Mama's comb is in my hair again, and it scratches my scalp. I don't move.

She tells me, "His name is Tobias," as she makes a straight cut along my hair. Blonde ringlets fall to the ground — they look so soft against the hard floor. I want to reach down and touch them, but I don't move.

"Tobias." It's the first time I've said his name, and I like the sound of it. It's cool, especially for an Abnegation. Much cooler than Beatrice, that's for sure. I wish I had a cooler sounding name like the Dauntless have, but I'll never tell Mama that.

Mama makes another cut. More rings of yellow. My fingers twitch.

"Mama?"

She sighs as she makes the final cut. "Yes, Beatrice?"

"Why doesn't Tobias come to school? He should be nine, right?" Nine year olds have to go to school, just like me. I am seven, but I want to be sixteen so I can choose — sometimes I think about choosing Dauntless. I still think I will choose Abnegation. Caleb definitely will.

Mama looks up and catches my eye in the mirror. Oops. She doesn't scold me for staring. Why? She won't scold me for vanity, or for asking questions, so why does she scold me for fidgeting? Mama pushes my hair over my shoulders, even on both sides. It falls to just above my belly button now, and I don't have to worry about sitting on it.

She gently grasps my shoulders. "Marcus teaches him. At home. It's called homeschooling."

He doesn't have to deal with the kids calling him names like I do, or go to Faction History. It's the most boring class. In that moment, I think he is the luckiest kid. "Can I be homeschooled like Tobias?" I like saying his name.

She smiles. "No, sweetheart. I'm too busy with the shelter during the day, and Papa works for the city council." Mama never calls Papa by his _real_ name. I only know it because Marcus calls him by it: Andrew.

"But Mama!" I whine, grabbing one of her hands in both of mine. I watch the mirror girl do the same to her mother. "Marcus is a leader, and he still has time!"

Her smile falls. "I suppose you're right…" I can see her thinking — I imagine a hamster running around on a wheel in her head and try not to laugh. We aren't supposed to laugh, but we are allowed to smile. But why isn't Mama smiling? Can she not see the hamster?

"So is that a yes to the homeschooling?" I ask, squeezing her hand. As if she is in one of our showers during winter — they get cold, because we don't have hot water — she jumps, snapping out of whatever she is thinking about.

"What? No." She shakes her head, but that makes her hair fall from the bun. Quickly fixing it, she hurries to the keypad and flips it open. It's the first time I've seen her with her hair down. "That's all you get for now, Beatrice. When you see your father, don't ask him any questions. He hates that." She enters the code again — 5-2-7-6-3 — and the cabinet locks shut with a click. Suddenly, my face is gone. I stare at the wooden cabinet for a minute as my mother grabs a broom and dustpan.

The image is fresh in my memory now, but sometime in the next month, it will fade. I will forget what I look like, who I am, and I will continue to behave like I am supposed to.

I will be Abnegation, at least for another three months until I see my golden locks in the mirror again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

I run my hand underneath the dispenser, and a stream of pink liquid soap lands on my palm. Rubbing my hands together, I dip them in the lukewarm water that comes from the tap and watch the bubbles form. When I asked him about it, Caleb told me it was chemistry. I didn't ask him what that was.

The bathrooms at school have mirrors above the sinks — that's why I always watch my hands. Still, out of the corner of my eye, I see a blob of grey: my robe. I can't look; it's against the rules.

"Stiff," I hear a girl whisper. She's my age, seven, and she has a wide face and brown hair that comes down over her forehead, sticking straight down, making her cheeks look rounder. She wears black and white: Candor. Well, at least she's honest.

Another Candor girl comes out of a stall. "Shut up, Molly," she snaps — Mama said those were bad words — and comes up beside me to wash her hands, making the other girl huff and storm out of the bathroom. This girl is taller than me by a lot even though she's probably my age and has dark brown skin, eyes that match, and black hair that stops at her neck. I wonder what it feels like to have hair that short; Mama just cut mine yesterday, and it still feels long, even tied up in a bun. I can feel the weight of it pressing down on my head.

With my wet fingers, I grab a paper towel from the roll and try not to smell it. Damp, the organic ones smell gross, but Mama says they're better for the environment, so the Amity had the school put them in.

Amity and Abnegation get along just fine, but I don't like the Amity kids. They keep to themselves — most of them don't even eat in the cafeteria. They sit in the grass and take out their packed lunch boxes and eat their bread while the rest of us eat at tables like humans. We have a lot of things in common, like our shared idea that caring for others is important, but they are allowed to laugh and play, unlike us. It's not fair, but I stopped complaining after Caleb scolded me; I hate when Caleb scolds me.

I hand the Candor girl an organic paper towel when she turns off the tap, and she thanks me. Then, after wiping her hands and tossing it in the trash can, she turns to the mirror and takes out a box from her backpack, opens it, and starts putting green stuff on her eyelids. I watch, fascinated by this.

"What are you doing?" I ask. I've never seen anything like it.

She turns to me and laughs. "It's makeup. I stole it from my mom's dresser."

I don't tell her she looks like a tree with that green gunk on her eyes; she's the Candor, not me. "Makeup?"

"Yeah, she uses it to make herself prettier. I thought I'd try it."

"Why?" I ask. I should stop asking questions, but I can't help but be interested.

She raises her eyebrows. "You want to try?"

"No," I say, but even I can hear the lie in my voice. I do want to try.

"Liar." Darn you, Candor.

I take a deep breath. What harm could it do to try? "Okay," I say before I can talk myself out of it.

"Yay!" the girl says. "Oh, I'm Christina, by the way."

I reply, "Beatrice."

"That's a nice name," she says, sitting me down on the counter.

"I don't like it," I answer. It's the first time I've told anyone this.

"Why?" She fumbles with the box for a while before finding a little white stick and rubs it round the circle with orange-brown stuff. It sticks to the squishy part. "Close your eyes."

I do as told. "It sounds too…"

"Stiff?" She finishes for me, and I feel pressure on my eyelid. I jolt back, mumble an apology, and let her continue.

"Yeah, I guess." _Stiff_ … that's the word. Beatrice is an Abnegation name.

She dips the sponge back in the orange-brown. "So change it."

"What?" My eyelids flutter as the sponge finds the other eye.

"Change it."

I pause. "It's not that easy."

"Why not?" Christina replies. Is she right? Could I be called something other than Beatrice? Suddenly, I think of Tobias and how cool his name sounds. I could have a name as cool as Tobias.

"Okay…" I mutter. "Let's say it is that easy. What would I change it to?"

She thinks for a second, pursing her lips. "Hmm… how about Bea?"

I shake my head. "That's sounds like bee."

"Well, we'll have to figure it out later…" she says, putting the sponge back in the box and snapping it shut. "Because I am done with your makeup."

I smile, thank her, and stand up. She frowns. "What's wrong?" I ask.

"You aren't going to look?" Oh, she wants me to see my reflection.

"I can't. I wish I could, really, but I can't."

"Why not?" She looks so sad now, like a kick puppy. I saw a factionless man kick a puppy once, and I got so angry that I tried to confront him, but Caleb stopped me. That was the first time I got scolded by him.

"In Abnegation, we aren't allowed to look at our reflection. We reject vanity." Every time I say that matter-of-factly, repeat the words of my mother, I pretend like I know what it means.

She hesitates. "I… I won't tell."

Suddenly, I am hit with the overwhelming urge to look. I've already let Christina put makeup on me, so why not take a little peek? If it was a hard-and-fast rule, anyways, they wouldn't make it so easy to cheat. "Okay."

I've never cheated before.

Slowly, I turn around, eyes trained on the ground. Christina's encouraging words give me courage, and I lift my eyes, raise them to the mirror, and gasp. The orange-brown doesn't make me look like a tree; instead, it brings out the blue in my grey eyes and makes them shine like stars. For the first time, I think about how I look. For the first time, I appreciate how I look. For the first time, I indulge in vanity, even if it is just for a while.

It scares me that it is the best feeling.

We walk from the bathroom arm in arm, grey, black, and white, confident, proud. For Christina, it's a normal thing. For me, it's a revolution. My heart thumps in my chest, anxious, but I'm the happiest I've been in a while. Only kids could go into a bathroom and come out with a friend, I think. And, for the first time, I am a kid. I feel like a kid. Right now, I'm not Stiff. I am me.

Caleb sees us. I smile and wave at him, my brother, and wait for him to smile back. He doesn't; his face contorts with rage, and he stomps over to me, grabs my arm, and drags me away from Christina into an empty hallway.

"Beatrice!" he yells, and I feel tears prick my eyes. I wonder, if they fall, will they be orange-brown? "What do you think you're doing! You can't be friends with a Candor! You can't be friends with anyone, in fact!" The tears stream down my face, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand. I look; they are clear, just like always. At least my makeup isn't ruined.

Then, he gets really quiet and leans in. His eyes narrow, and I see the fire in them. "Beatrice, what is on your eyes?" His voice is low, scary, and I flinch away from him.

"It's makeup," I tell him. "Christina put it on me. Isn't it pretty?"

"Pretty?" He yells, louder this time. "Pretty! Beatrice, you sound like a narcissist!"

I frown. What that word means, I don't know, but it doesn't sound good. "But Caleb… it looks nice."

"How would you know that?" he snarls, pointing an accusatory finger at me. My heart quickens, and I know I've gotten myself into deep trouble.

"I… I looked."

He's quiet again for a minute, and I start to think that he's not angry anymore. Then, I feel a stinging pain on my cheek and grab it with both hands. Startled, I look up at him and realize; he hit me. A sob builds in my throat.

"Go home, Beatrice, and tells our parents why I sent you back." I nod quickly and run, quicker than I've ever run before, desperate to get away from him. I don't take the bus; instead, I run all the way home. By the time I reach, my lungs feel like Dauntless' hot coals in my chest, and my heart is beating like it will jump out of me. I drop onto the front steps and heave, feeling the contents of my lunch rise up.

Mama opens the door — she's home early from the shelter today. She calls for Papa, who sprints over to me and carries me inside. I'm crying now, sobbing, and my cheeks still stings from Caleb's slap. I hold onto Papa's shirt as he sets me down on the couch.

"What happened, sweetie?" Mama asks. I tell her everything, about Molly (the mean Candor girl), Christina, the makeup, and Caleb. She doesn't seem angry, not with me, but Papa does.

"Get that crap off her eyes." My eyes widen at his angry voice, his mean words, his temper that I've never seen before.

"Papa-"

"Now!" He growls, barking at Mama. I start to cry again, and she glares at him.

"You're a hypocrite, Andrew," she says, carrying me off to the bathroom. She called him Andrew, and she's never done that before. Today is a day of firsts.

She dips a towel in cold water. "Close your eyes, Beatrice." Gently, she dabs the cloth against my eyelids. I shiver. "Wish we had some makeup wipes," she mutters, probably not meaning for me to hear. She sounds like she knows a lot.

"Mama?"

"Yes, Beatrice?" she replies, rubbing gently. The orange-brown comes off on the cloth, and she sighs in relief.

I tell her what I've been afraid to, because I'm brave now. "I don't like being called Beatrice. It's a Stiff name."

She freezes, and I think there are tears in her eyes. I feel guilty; I didn't want to make Mama cry. Then, suddenly, she smiles with watery eyes. "Yes, I don't think it suits you anymore."

"Christina says I don't have to be called Beatrice."

Mama dips the cloth in water again. "You don't, baby. You can be called whatever you want. All you have to do is wait until you are older." Is Mama telling me to choose somewhere else? Does she know I don't belong in Abnegation? But I do belong here, I think. Or maybe I don't.

"Can you help me come up with a name? I want something that sounds cool, like Tobias." Her eyes harden, and she folds her lips together. But that is only for a second, and she's smiling again.

"Something Dauntless," she says. I nod, because it's true. I want a Dauntless name, something bold, something unique, something that makes me feel alive… but that is a lot of pressure to put on a name.

"Yes, Mama. Something Dauntless."

She thinks for a moment, as if imaging, as if becoming lost in a memory. "Tris," she says, suddenly. "We can call you Tris. Do you like that?"

 _Tris…_ "It's perfect, Mama!"

She smiles. "Let's try it out, then." She sticks out her hand — a Dauntless greeting. In Abnegation, we acknowledge by nodding heads. "Hello."

"Hi, my name is Tris." I stick my hand out and shake hers. It feels foreign, strange, but I like it.

I like it a lot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"I'm sorry, Beatrice," Caleb says again, the third time, as he leans against my doorframe. I hide my teary cheeks in my pillow, face down on my bed, and swallow the painful lump in my throat. Every time I see his face, I see scrunched up eyebrows, sharp teeth like a monster's, and I think maybe he should be under my bed with the rest of them.

"Go away," I say, my voice small and muffled by the feathery headrest. I know I sound like a baby, but he violated my trust. That's not easy to fix. "I won't forgive you."

Caleb huffs. "That's selfish."

"Shut up." Christina's voice echoes in my head, those very words, and I feel no remorse. I am not allowed to talk to Christina anymore, all because of Caleb. I hate him. Caleb is only eleven months older than me, but he still acts like he's better.

He's stunned, silent for a moment, and then he screams, "Papa!" and runs out of my room. I know he's going to tell on me — what a snitch. I giggle a bit and take my head off the pillow. It was getting hard to breathe anyways, and my breath kind of stinks. I exhale into my palm and lift it to my nose — yep.

I swing my legs over the bed and wait for the incoming talking-to from Papa. More like yelling-at. Not to long after, he shows up at my door.

"Beatrice," he says, his voice low and angry. "What is this your brother is telling me about you telling him bad words?"

I remember what he said to Mama yesterday and think she's right — he's a hypocrite (I looked it up in Caleb's dictionary after dinner). "You said a worse word, Papa."

His jaw locks, and his eyes swim with irritation. "What I say has nothing to do with you." He takes a step towards me, and for a second, as his fists clench and his knuckles turn white, I think he is about to hit me, just like Caleb.

Out of nowhere, Mama grabs his arm, twists it behind his back, and whispers in his ear from behind, "Think about what you are doing, Andrew. Trust is something more delicate than glass." She lets go, and Papa glares at her. He walks out, rubbing his wrist and muttering under his breath. My heart beats in my ears as the door slams behind him, and Mama comes and sits beside me.

"Mama," I cry, and she takes me into her arms. Her fingers run through my hair, allowing the golden curls to fall from the elastic that holds them up. They land softly against my back, and I realize that I love how it feels. I wish I could let them go more often, but I can't in Abnegation.

Mama looks at me then, as if she knows what I'm thinking. "Tris, sweetie," she says, and I smile at the name she calls me. If only Papa could hear. "I know you resent Abnegation. I know you feel like you haven't been able to have a childhood, or any freedom, and you aren't wrong. I don't know what that feels like, but I can imagine." Shock runs through me as what she is saying settles in — my mother was not born an Abnegation.

"You weren't…"

"No." She doesn't explain anymore, but I know I will ask her later. I can't help that I am curious like an Erudite. "Anyway, like I was saying. The parts of Abnegation that you don't like, that make you feel suffocated, those aren't the only things we believe in. Do you remember our manifesto?"

I nod. Mama smiles and takes my hand, and we say it together:

"I will be my undoing If I become my obsession.

I will forget the ones I love If I do not serve them.

I will war with others If I refuse to see them.

Therefore I choose to turn away from my reflection,

To rely not on myself

But on my brothers and sisters,

To project always outward

Until I disappear."

"You see," she continues. "Not looking in a mirror, it's not always literal. Baby, you don't have to sacrifice everything to be selfless. You don't have to strip yourself of every joy, to make it so you hate waking up in the morning, just to fit the criteria of the faction. Yes, it's not the most fun way to live, but I really do believe that it's the most fulfilling. All that said, when the time comes, it's your choice to make how you want to live your life."

"But what about Papa?"

A frown tugs at her lips. "Your father has been selfish lately."

I gasp. "Papa, selfish?"

She nods grimly. "Things have been difficult with the council, and he is taking it out on you. He feels that the last thing we need right now is a bad image for Abnegation." And I am that bad image… she doesn't say it, but it is understood.

Suddenly, she stands up and throws open my closet. "Get dressed, Tris."

I nod and hop off my bed, grabbing a grey dress and some sneakers (guess what colour). Curiosity bursts through me. "Where are we going?" I say as she pulls the dress over my head and guides my arms through my brand new coat. My old one sits in the closet, the one that barely fits me anymore.

"I'm going to show you what Abnegation is really about." She pulls me down the stairs and grabs her coat and a large, heavy-looking bag on the way out. Papa calls out to us, but Mama drags me out the door without answering.

We walk in silence in the dead of night for a while past the uniform grey houses that are small yet standing tall with honour. Each house holds a family full of people whose lives are dedicated to helping others. As we walk along the starlit path, I realize that this is the beauty of Abnegation, and that everything else is just for show. Soon enough — not really, I'm panting, but Mama seems unfazed, even carrying the heavy bag — we reach our destination: the factionless sector.

Even here, the sky is painted a dark blue and the stars are blindingly bright. I think it's taunting, as these people seem to have a future not as bright. But as I look at the sky longer, I realize that there is more darkness than light. A shiver runs down my spine as the air bites my skin like bugs, and I tug my new coat closer.

Along the bricks walls that line the far side of Abnegation buildings, the factionless have made their homes. They are dressed in every colour, mostly grey — which makes sense, considering that almost only the Abnegation give their clothes — but what they have is torn and dull from years of use. On their faces is dirt and blood, and their skin hangs close to bones, no fat to keep them warm, and they seem to have turned purple from the cold.

Mama stops and opens the heavy bag, and inside I can see warm clothing (black, blue, grey) and loafs of fresh bread. I see the gleam in the factionless's eyes as they see us, but they seem to lack the energy to come. So, Mama goes to them. I remember the apple slices in my pocket and follow her, handing them to an older man, white beard stained a brownish colour. He thanks me with his weak smile, more than a few teeth missing, likely knocked out in a fight over food, the ones remaining soiled and yellow; one apple slice pops into his mouth, and he sucks on it, breaking it with his tongue.

We make our way along the walls, handing out food and clothes, but I notice that they are still cold. Finally, we reach a young woman, maybe in her early twenties, with a child who looks my about age. I know from the way the seven-year-old girl holds onto the woman that she is her mother, and I also see the despair in the woman's eyes as her daughter shivers from the freezing wind that pulls at my hair and makes my scalp sting (my hair is still down, and Mama hasn't told me to put it back up — I think even if she did, it would fall back out).

The girl's eyes lock with mine, resigned, like she knows she'll be cold until spring comes, and maybe even then. Determination flares up inside of me as Mama hands them two loafs of bread with sorry eyes (there are no clothes left), and I shrug out of my brand new coat and hand it to the woman. Her eyes flash with surprise, but soon she is thanking me over and over again, and after the coat is zipped tight around the girl, the woman leans down and kisses the ground at my feet. I crouch and gently lift her head, saying, "Please, don't do that. We are all humans."

The woman nods, thanks me and Mama again, and hugs her baby close, watching as she nibbles on a piece of bread. I look up at Mama, who is beaming with pride. She unzips her coat and holds me under her arm so we are both warm, and we walk along the rest of the wall, handing out food.

 _This_ is Abnegation, I realize. This feeling inside of me after doing something good, something selfless, without even thinking about it. I am excited to go home and wear my old coat again. I am Abnegation, at least this much, and if I wanted to, I could try to belong there. But I also realize, as the whistle of the ten o'clock train echoes through the night, that I don't want to try to belong somewhere; I just want to belong.

Tiredness weighs down my eyelids, and I struggle to keep them open. Mama notices, and she whispers, "Home is close, Baby. Keep your eyes open." We near the end of the wall, and there is just two more figures in the darkness. One is an elderly man with all of his teeth, a man who seems to be in his final days. His beard is sloppily cut, maybe with a sharp rock, and reaches to the bottom of his neck. There is a scar that runs along the side of his face, deep, twisted, ancient, and a fresh cut along his lip. His eyes are a deep green, but they seem empty, glazed, and the black circles in them are the smallest I've ever seen. His fingers run through the other figure's hair, gentle, caring. Love like a father's, or a grandfather's.

The other is a young boy, maybe eight or nine. His skin is pale, like he never goes into the sun, but there is no dirt on it. Despite that, blood seeps through the back of his shirt, making the grey look black, and his eyes seem guarded, like he lives in a constant state of danger. His features are small, plain, except for his eyes; they are dark blue, like the sky at ten o'clock (now), but there is a little spot of light blue, like in the late afternoon. His hair is cut short… Abnegation hair. He chews, slowly, like he has not enough energy to move his jaw, on a hunk of terribly yellow cheese, the edges sharp like they could cut his tongue.

This boy, with grey clothes and short hair, is not factionless — he is Abnegation. But the way he slouches against the bricks like he knows them, the blood battered on his back, and the emptiness that shrouds him like a mist all suggest otherwise.

Who is this boy?

I glance up at Mama, whose eyes shine with recognition (and tears), and whose lips are parted with shock. A frown becomes my lips as I direct my stare at the boy again, not two years older than I am yet broken somehow, tired like the life has been sucked out of him, and suddenly I feel guilty for crying over Caleb's slap and complaining about being tired. Then, a single word escapes Mama's lips, so quiet I think maybe I heard her wrong, or maybe she didn't even say anything. But then she clears her throat, blinks five times, so quickly that the tears are pushed out of her eyes, and says it again, louder, clearer, and I know I heard her right.

But it's not possible. It doesn't make any sense… I repeat what she said, but this time I don't envy the cool-sounding name of the boy who now has a face in my mind.

"Tobias?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

His jaw twitches, slack, and the cheese falls from between his teeth — he's lost the energy to chew. Eyes like the sea, infinite and blue, stare up at us, brimming with liquid misery, terror, the absence of strength. The grey-black shirt he's wearing sticks to his skin, melds to the flesh on his battered back. It will hurt to peel it off.

How did he get this way, slouched meaninglessly against a blood-brick wall? Tobias, the homeschooled boy, the lucky one… Tears sting the backs of my eyes, hot, poisonous. I kneel beside him, losing breath from the thick, heavy knot in my throat, gravel cutting into my slacks. I shift, and it digs into my skin, but I feel no pain.

Tobias' eyes, which had fluttered shut like hope lost, carefully part, a treasure chest opened, and stare lazily at my nose. Leaning further back so I am sitting on my ankles, I lower myself to his eye-level. The light of the moon, a thin, crescent shape tonight like the letter C, shines against his hair, making him look like a broken angel.

Without thought, my fingers touch his cheek, soft, gentle. It's not something I would ever do, and yet it comes as instinct to me now. He flinches, and I pull away like I've been burned, but the next thing he does makes my tummy flip; his lips part, and he whispers, "Sorry. Come back." I do.

We are two children, each mesmerized by the other. I trace the dark bruise on his cheek, right below his eye, and with the energy he has left, he holds my ice-cold fingers against the wound like a balm. The cold soothes him, and the heat of his skin makes me warm. From that moment, I know we will always help each other.

Mama is speaking to the man. I shift and sit comfortably, cross-legged, beside Tobias and let him hold my hand to his cheek while I listen to them talking. I don't even notice the blood spot where my knees had rested.

"Is he…" Mama begins, gaze flickering between Tobias to Me to The Man again.

The Man nods. "Tobias Eaton." Tobias cowers at the sound of his own name; I can feel it in my palm. I trace a big semi-circle along his cheek with my thumb, and he relaxes. I do this without thinking, which is not normal; Abnegation do not touch.

"Who are you?" Mama continues, talking to The Man. I notice his fingers are still combing through Tobias' hair, but neither one seems to notice. It's second nature. "Do you know him?" I bite my lip — I think that's a dumb question, but I keep it to myself.

"Yes," The Man replies. "My name is Thomas. I am his caretaker."

"What about Marcus?"

His nostrils flare up, and I can feel Tobias trembling again — this time, soothing touches do not calm him down. Panic wells up inside me as I struggle to think of what to do. Suddenly, The Man, Thomas, places a small piece of cheese between Tobias' teeth, and he begins chewing on it, slowly, lethargically.

"No good finds this boy," Thomas mutters, stroking his hair again. It's easy to tell that Thomas has been factionless for long; he seems resigned to it, no glimmer of hope in his eye. It reminds me of the girl my age, the one I gave my coat to. The whole ordeal seems like long ago, anyways, maybe from some other night, but when the wind strikes my bare arms again, it feels like seconds. My fingers are still warm, absorbing heat from Tobias' burning skin. I start to think that he has a fever.

Mama hesitates. "His back—" Battered, beaten, bruised, bloody…

Thomas covers Tobias' ears, and he doesn't fight it. As the sounds of the night disappear to him, Tobias closes his eyes and puts his weight into the palm of my hand. Again, I make patterns on his skin, and a soft hum escapes him as he falls into sleep. I find it strange that sleep comes so easily to him; it takes me hours before I can sleep at night. He must be really exhausted. Thomas keeps his hands over Tobias' ears.

"How do I know I can trust you?" he says.

I shift so Tobias' neck is not strained and I am facing Mama and Thomas. "Mama, what happened to his back?"

She looks so helpless now, so lost. "It was his father, Baby. He hurt him."

No! Poor Tobias. I try not to cry as I say, "We have to help him, Mama."

Her eyes shine. "Yes, Baby, we do."

"He's my best friend," I say, more sure of that than I've ever been of anything. I won't leave him here. I will help him, and he'll get better, and we'll play outside together like the Amity folks.

Thomas looks happy, but he's crying. I can't tell if he's sad or not. Maybe he's both; I know I am. I'm happy I have a friend, but I'm sad that he's in pain. Thomas, I think, is happy that we will help Tobias but sad that he won't be here anymore.

Mama is crying too — so much crying tonight — and she says to Thomas, "Please let us help him." It's unspoken, but we know that he has the control here.

But he nods, eyes watery, and stands up, gathering some things into a box: clothes, a blanket, and a hunk of gross-looking yellow cheese. Mama picks Tobias up in her arms, and I take my hand away from him; it is hard, because he is holding on tightly in his sleep, but I pry myself away and take the box from Thomas. Mama offers him what is left of the bag of food, and he takes it gratefully.

"Don't let anyone know where he is, and don't mention that bastard they call his father around him. If he gets panicky, the cheese calms him down, and… well, now this little one does too." He pats my head, and I smile proudly. "His back is pretty torn up, but you can't take him to the hospital."

"I can patch him up," Mama says, holding the nine-year-old boy with ease. I never noticed the muscles along Mama's arms, but they are prominent now as she flexes them, carrying Tobias like he is a feather. We both know he is just as breakable. "I've fixed my fair share of battle wounds." _What?_

"Marcus will stop at nothing to find him," Thomas says, face hardening at the goodbye. "Protect him, Natalie."

Mama looks shocked that Thomas knows her name. "How…"

He smiles an inside smile. "I am familiar with your family." Then his smile turns around. "As am I with your husband. Andrew is a bad man, Natalie. Keep Tobias away from him."

"He is not—"

"Do not be blinded by love," Thomas says, not unkindly but firmly, "or you will make the same mistake that my daughter did. Take care of yourself and your daughter, and now Tobias."

Mama swallows loudly and nods. "I will, Thomas." He turns and walks away, food in one hand, and with the other, drags away the blanket that him and Tobias were sitting on just moments before. Why is he leaving?

"Wait!" Mama calls. "Who are you? How do you know him? How can we find you?" He doesn't come back; he doesn't even look, and soon his old, hunched figure disappears into the night. I wonder: if we see him again, will it be alive?

Mama looks at me, lit by the moon and stars, and we make our way back in the direction we came. Only now, the brick walls are bare, not even one factionless slouched against them. Our walk back is quicker; this time, we don't take our time looking at the sky or handing out clothes and food, but we walk, the silence filled only by sleeping Tobias' helpless whimpers.

I break the silence. "Mama… is Papa bad?" The image of him, fists ready, knuckles white, jaw clenched, pierces my mind. It makes my blood run cold, even colder than the air against my bare arms. Mama's arms are bare, too; I didn't notice, but her coat is wrapped around Tobias. It makes her muscles look even bigger. When did those get there? Were they always there? I have never seen Mama's arms bare before.

"I don't know, Tris," she says, the sound of our footsteps growing louder as we reach the cemented pathway that signifies home. "We'll find out soon, if my suspicions are right."

My eyes find Tobias again, his small frame jostling as Mama carries him up the front steps. Gingerly, I touch his forehead as Mama grabs the doorknob. We don't lock doors in Abnegation.

The door opens, and light floods us. Tobias groans and stirs in his sleep. I follow Mama into the living room where Papa sits, awake (even at this ungodly hour of eleven o'clock), waiting for us. Caleb is not here, so he must be asleep. Papa doesn't look at us as we enter, unaware that Tobias is with us; for some reason, I don't want him to look our way.

"Where have you been, Nat," he asks (although it sounds like a statement) without looking, elbows on his knees, holding a small glass by the rim. Tobias' eyes fly open at the harsh sound, and I bring my finger to my lips: shhh. He nods, visibly scared. I am, too, but I smile and hold his hand to comfort him. Somehow, he ends up comforting me, too. We'll always be there for each other.

"Out," Mama replies. "I went on a walk."

"With our daughter," he spits out, seeming angry now, "in the middle of the night." His grip on the glass tightens so the lines in his hand stand out, and there's a swaying motion in the reddish liquid. Woooo.

"You were scaring her."

He stands up, furious at the accusation (which wasn't far from truth), yelling, "How dare you, you little—" The glass falls from his hand and smashes against the wooden coffee table, shattering to pieces, dropping to the carpet. Now, Papa's voice is low, dangerous, and my skin crawls like bugs. Papa never used to be like this. "Who is the boy?"

Mama is steady like a rock. "A friend," she replies curtly. "He's staying with us for a while."

"And why would that be?"

Mama raises her eyebrows. "If I were you, Andrew, I wouldn't question me." I remember Mama's muscles and realize; I know nothing about my parents, and neither of them are who I thought they were. Papa's lip twitches, but he sits back down and puts his feet up on the table, shoving shards of glass down onto the ground.

"Don't antagonize me, Natalie." He pauses. "The boy can stay. Take him upstairs."

Anger rises inside of me; Papa is being disrespectful. But Mama just shakes her head and takes me and Tobias upstairs, whispering, "Pick your battles, Baby." We go to my room, and Mama puts him on the bed. "I'm going to check on Caleb. Stay here with Tobias, okay?" I nod, and she leaves.

Tobias lays on his stomach, eyes open. He is still weak, but he's gotten some sleep now. I sit on the chair beside the bed and watch him for a minute.

"Hi," he croaks. I jump, startled, but settle back down.

"Hello," I answer. Now that he's talking, it seems more real. Nerves float around in my belly.

"My name is Tobias… but you knew that." I giggle, and a small smile plays on his lips. It's full of relief, and his shoulders sag; until now, I never noticed how tense they were, but looking at them now, it's like night and day, black and white. He was so scared. "What's yours? I can't call you Baby."

Heat rises to my cheeks, warming them up from the cold, and I'm embarrassed by Mama's nickname for me. I need to tell him my name. "It's…" I hesitate — why? Somehow, Beatrice doesn't sound right. Not after tonight.

"Is it a hard one?" he asks, curious. "You can change it, you know."

"Yeah, people have been telling me that lately," I mutter. Then, suddenly shy, I add, "Um… can you call me Tris?"

He nods, smiling. "Tris… It suits you." He doesn't ask what my real name is, and we sit in comfortable silence for a moment. Then he says, out of nowhere, "You have really pretty hair."

I blush deeper, and my lips form an 'o'. His cheeks match mine.

A strand finds its way between my fingers. "I don't usually wear it like this."

"You should," he says. "It's so loose and… free."

"My mama cut it yesterday."

He looks sad again. "My mama died when I was little."

"Oh." I don't know what to say; I'm not good at comforting people. "I'm sorry."

"Why do people say that?" he asks.

I shrug. "I think it means, 'I'm sorry for your loss.'"

"It wasn't much of a loss," he replies. "She saw it happen and didn't try to stop him." _She saw him get beaten…_

"But she was still your mama."

He shrugs this time. "I guess."

I hesitate. "Does he… _did_ he do it a lot?" It's a dangerous subject, but I try to remind him that it's over now. We're going to help him now. But after everything he's been through, I doubt that he'll relax any time soon. He takes my hand again and plays with it; I don't mind.

He nods. "Yeah. Sometimes he would lock me in the closet for days. That's why I can't go to school like everyone else. I guess that means I'm dumb."

"No, it doesn't," I say. "Caleb — my brother — can teach you things. He's super smart, like Erudite smart."

"Do you think he'll transfer?" My eyes widen; I'd never even considered it. But now, it doesn't seem too far-fetched. I think of the books, and how he always seems to know everything, how he always _wants_ to know everything. He's Erudite, at least some part of him.

"Maybe," I finally answer.

He stops for a second, thinking, before continuing. "Do you… do you think _you'll_ transfer?" I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, and I don't respond. He gets it and says, "Sorry."

"It's okay. What about you?"

He smiles cheekily. "Dauntless." It seems comical now — the small, frail, Abnegation boy in front of me wants to be Dauntless. But if I look deeper, I think I can see it. His drained, pale skin becomes healthy and tanned (maybe tattooed); his weak arms become strong and muscular; his back is healed; his deep blue eyes shine with victory. He could be Dauntless if he wanted to.

What about me? Could I be Dauntless?

Do I want to be Dauntless?

I know the last answer: yes. Somewhere under Abnegation grey is the me that watched the black-clad thrill-seekers jump on and off trains, desperately wishing to join them. Even though I'll always be a little bit Abnegation, especially after seeing what Mama did tonight with Tobias and the factionless, somewhere in me is bravery that wants to rise to the surface, be free.

And suddenly, I want to tell Tobias. "Me too," I say, excited by the revelation.

His eyes light up, but as he opens his mouth to say something, Mama walks in. "Okay, my little daredevils. Let's get Tobias' back cleaned up before we talk about jumping onto trains."

The blood drains from Tobias' face — we have to clean up his back. He's small again, not the same boy who just told me he wants to be Dauntless.

"Do we have to?" he whimpers, and my heart breaks a little. But Mama nods, and I can see the fear in his eyes again that only disappeared for the while we were talking — or maybe it never went away, and he just got better at hiding it.

I help him sit up, and he plays with the hem of his shirt. Mama crouches in front of him, whispering words of comfort, and I go to leave the room, but he grabs my hand.

"Stay?"

I nod reluctantly and take my seat again. I close my eyes as he peels off his shirt — I hear a tearing sound and a heartbreaking cry of pain — and open them when he's laying on his stomach. Automatically, my eyes train on the floor; that's where I see his grey t-shirt, blackened with dry blood. I look up at him and Mama and gasp quietly.

His cheeks are now stained with tears, and his eyes are squeezed shut. As I survey the damage on his back, I cannot imagine the pain he must be in. Flesh hangs off his back in flakes, and each gash that stretches along his torso is flecked with dried blood at the sides. There's welts where the belt buckle hit (I assume) and gashes, open, bleeding, and suddenly there's a sharp pain between my eyes, and I plug my nose, breathing deeply.

I look at Mama, and she's the same, but in her eyes, there's something else: anger. It burns like a flame, bright, unyielding. The anger spreads from her to me, and I'm engulfed by it in seconds, raging like a thunder storm over the city. But a small hand, strewn with callouses, touches my arm softly, and suddenly all that's left is sadness.

I lean down and kiss his forehead before unzipping the red bag beside Mama. I promised I would help him, so I will, even if all this blood makes me dizzy.

"You'll be okay, Toby. I promise," I whisper as Mama dabs something at his wounds. He winces.

"Can I have another kiss?" he asks through gritted teeth, and I laugh and comply, pressing my lips to his forehead again.

"It'll be over soon, and when it is, we'll be so happy."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

I jolt awake, knocking my skull on the headboard. Ignoring the throbbing pain, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and run blindly towards the sound: a cry of pain, mingled with a strangled sob, the kind that breaks my heart. The wooden floor is cold beneath my feet, shocking coming from the warmth of my bed, but it leads me into my brother's room across the hall, Tobias' temporary living space as my brother had so selflessly offered to sleep on the floor.

Breaking through the door (and maybe damaging a few hinges), I find Toby thrashing in his sleep, deep, petrified screams bounding from his throat. Suddenly, he starts to cough, choking on nothing but air, clawing at his throat and gasping for breath, the very thing that strangles him. He's having a nightmare, I realize as I rush to his side.

Trying to remember how to calm him down, I only think of two things: the gross looking, terribly yellow cheese — not a viable option at the moment — and… me. So I start small and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, but he jerks away, removing one hand from his throat to grab my wrist. His nails dig into the skin there, and I let out a cry of pain.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Caleb. He looks as if he is contemplating coming to help me or staying safely in the corner; he doesn't move. It seems his selflessness only reaches so far.

Blood seeps from the place where his nails dig into my skin, and tears stream down my cheeks. "Toby," I whisper loudly. I'm to only one who gets to call him that — he knows it's me now. "Toby, wake up. You're having a nightmare. It's me, Tris. I'm here. Wake up."

Shallow, broken breaths break through his lips, and he stills. I pull my hand out of his grasp, and blood streams down my wrist, dark and oozy, making me dizzy again. Taking deep breaths, I sit on the bed and cup both of his cheeks. I'll never be afraid of him.

Tobias lets out a finals scream, and his eyes shoot open.

"Hey," I soothe, stroking his hair, smiling. The look on his face makes me want to cry, but all I can do is hold him. "Hey, come on, it's okay. Don't cry, Baby." I imagine Mama holding me, saying those very words, and I hold him the same way. His body rakes with sobs.

"I'm not," sniff, "a baby." I laugh — a big, throw-your-head-back kind of one — and he cracks a smile, leaning into the embrace. Tobias closes his eyes again, but only for a second. I frown, wondering what he sees when he closes his eyes that scares him so much.

After he's calm again, I stand up to leave so he can get some rest and heal. "Sleep well, Tobias," I say, but he grabs my wrist to stop me, the non-injured one.

"Stay," he begs, and I can't say no to him. I nod, but not before glancing at Caleb.

He says, "It's okay. Stay. I'll sleep in your room." I smile in thanks, and he leaves.

I move towards Caleb's makeshift bed on the floor — a fluffy pillow and some blankets — but Tobias pulls me under the covers with him, and I sigh, resting my head against his chest. His heartbeat thumps loudly against my ear, faster than it should be. He's scared. He's letting me close to him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask, staring up at him. His blue eyes, glistening like the midnight sea, are light in the darkness, bright with tears. His cheek are wet.

He nods slowly. "It was… Marcus." Thomas told us not to talk to him about his father, yet he's opening up to me. I feel so lucky, as if Mama finally said yes to homeschooling — but now, that doesn't seem like so much fun. Maybe if Tobias does it too. "He… he used the belt." I remember his thrashing, convulsing, and the bloody gashes on his back. "And he tried to choke me." The clawing at his throat, the gasping for breath…

The pain returns between my eyes. "Was it a memory?" He nods sadly.

"He tried to strangle me," he says. "All I remember is thinking that I was going to… that _he_ was going to…" His voice breaks. "I though I was going to die, Tris…"

I hold onto him as he sobs again, stroking his hair, his cheek, holding his hand. I've never been so close to another human before, and yet it feels more natural than looking at my reflection. "You didn't. You are okay, Tobias. I'll never let anyone hurt you, ever."

A small grin plays on his lips. "I'm supposed to say that. I'm the boy." I smack his chest playfully.

"That's gender-ist," I say. "We're both Dauntless, so we both get to be brave, fearless."

"I don't think I'll ever be fearless," he replies. "Four — that's how many fears I have."

"How do you know?"

"I just do," he says. "They're my fears, so I know them. It's that easy."

"Wow, four fears. Maybe I should call you Four from now on."

"Don't," he answers quickly. I cock my head at him, curious, and he blushes so deeply that it's visible in the dark, saying, "I like it when you call me Toby." Pause. "What's your name?"

"You know my name."

"What's your _real_ name?"

"Tris," I reply instantly. It's true — Tris is my real name. "But most people call me Beatrice."

"That's pretty," he says. "Can I call you Bea sometimes? I'll call you Tris, too, but when we get to Dauntless, everyone will call you that. I want to have something that only I can call you." I nod. Maybe I didn't like Bea before, but now it sounds pretty, at least when he says it. Only he gets to call me that.

"Okay, Toby with four fears." I think for a second. "I don't know how many fears I have."

"Maybe you don't have any?" That's not true at all — right now, I can think of at least three fears that are about the boy in front of me. Marcus coming back, Tobias' wounds not healing, Papa finding out who he is…

"Maybe," I say, because if Tobias thinks I have no fears, then I will let him think that. In his mind, if I am fearless, then I can be fearless in real life. I will prove him right. I put my hand on his chest and feel his heart beat under my palm, quickening.

Suddenly, he freezes. "Tris," he says, quiet, scared. "Did I do that?" He's pointing to my wrist I realize, the bloody one.

My lips part. "Oh, Toby, it's okay."

"No," he trembles, "it's not okay! I hurt you! All you've done is help me, fix me, and I hurt you…"

"You were asleep. Please, Toby, don't beat yourself up about this."

He goes silent, and he runs his fingers along the cuts; I flinch, and he pulls away like my wrist was made of hot coals. Then, using his words, I whisper, "Sorry. Come back," and he does, just like I did a few hours ago when we found him in the factionless sector. Why was he there, though? Who is Thomas? There are so many questions, but I know that they must wait until morning.

I hear heavy, pained breaths escape him, and I realize that he is laying on his injured back — that's not good. Carefully, I sit up, and he mumbles something in a cracked voice. He thinks I'm leaving him.

"No, Toby, I'm just turning you on your stomach," I say as he whimpers. "I won't leave, ever."

"Promise?"

"Promise." He nods, and I pull him up and turn him so he's laying flat on his stomach and lie down on my back. His head falls to the side facing me, and his arm comes up and rests over my stomach so he's half-hugging me.

"Thanks, Bea," he whispers, poking me in the side. I giggle and close my eyes, hoping that now, both of us can fall asleep. His breathing slows, and I can tell he's already gone. My fingers trace his cheeks, plump and pale, and a small snore bubbles from his nose. He's a fast sleeper, unlike me; it usually takes me hours.

Within three minutes of Tobias' soft snores, I'm fast asleep. Not once during the night does he have another nightmare.

We'll help each other, as long as we are wrapped in each other's arms.

* * *

"And then you add the two numbers together to get the sum," Caleb finishes passionately, stabbing the tip of the pencil into the page. By now, he's almost out of breath; the way he talks is fast and intense, eager, like he's desperate to share his knowledge. I don't know how I missed it before, but he's definitely Erudite.

Tobias groans and claws at his hair. "I still don't get it, Caleb." I take his hand so he won't hurt himself and massage it calmly. His breaths slow, and he smiles gratefully at me. He whispers, "Thanks Bea." I smile, glad that he's calling me that — for some reason, I don't want Caleb to know my real name.

I would try to help him understand the math, but I honestly wasn't even listening. Hey, I still have two years before I have to do this stuff; the only reason Caleb understands is because he's a freaky genius in an eight year old's body.

Caleb sighs. "What part don't you get? Find the common denominator…" I zone out again, playing with Toby's fingers.

"Bea!" he whines softly, tugging his fingers away but not hard enough to escape my grip. I squeeze tighter, stubborn. "You're distracting me from Mr. Prior's fabulous teaching." Without looking up, I stick my tongue out and make a fart sound with my lips. Caleb's monotonous droning stops, and he glares at me.

"Beatrice," he scolds, "stop hindering Tobias' studying just because you want attention. That's selfish."

Tobias frowns. "Hey, Caleb. That was uncalled for. Everything can be taken as selfish, but pointing it out does no one any good. Besides, we're just playing. I asked you to teach me, and I intend to learn, and I'm very grateful, but Bea deserves better than to be scolded for playing." Tobias' scolding is not unkind, not like Caleb's, and I find myself moving closer to him. He's so wise, and so broken, and so… old inside. I think it's called mature.

"Sorry," Caleb mutters under his breath. Then he looks up, and I can see tears swimming in his eyes. "Papa told me to make sure you didn't embarrass him. He said to scold you. I didn't want to, Beatrice, really, but Papa is so scary, and when I saw you with the makeup on… I just didn't want him to hit me. That was selfish of me. I'm sorry for hitting you."

He's apologized for it before — half-heartedly, probably because Mama made him — but this time, I can tell he means it. And, with the way Papa's been acting lately, I believed every word of it.

"It's okay." I can see his eyes fall to my hands that are playing with Tobias' fingers, and for a second I think he is about to say something, but he snaps his mouth shut and opens another textbook. Tobias doesn't ask about the hitting incident.

Caleb says, "Okay, so math is a bust. Let's try English."

"I speak it," Tobias replies. "What else could I possibly need to know?" Caleb groans loudly, and I stifle a giggle with mine and Tobias' joined hands. My breath is warm against our skin, and the sound that comes out is muffled.

"For the love of—" Caleb is cut off by Mama, who walks through the door holding a small square bag with a white plus sign on it. I saw the same sign in Tobias' math textbook.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Caleb," she grins, and a rose blush spreads across his cheeks. He mutters an apology, and I see him kick his box of hidden books under the bed. Mama sees it too, and her eyes soften.

"Beatrice, can you take Tobias wait in your room? I need to talk to Caleb for a second, but I'll be right there to redo your bandages." In the morning, Mama found me curled up with Tobias, but all she did was take out a bottle of stinging liquid and a roll of stretchy beige fabric and clean up my wrist. I think she knew how I got the marks; Tobias' face said it all, but she didn't scold him. She didn't scold me either, for staying in his room and breaking the rules.

We nod, and Toby and I go to leave the room. Suddenly, I think of something. "Mama, can I try to do the bandages? I want to be able to help Toby like you do. I remember exactly how you did it."

She looked surprised, but nods. "If Tobias is okay with it, then sure. I trust you, and if he does too…"

"I do," Toby confirms, taking my hand.

"Okay then. Be careful, Beatrice, and do it exactly like I showed you." She gives me the bag and shoos us out. Just before Mama closes the door, I see Caleb's face: terrified, dreadful, guilty, not knowing what Mama will do. I can tell that he's scared, because she saw the books he hides. He doesn't know yet, but he has no reason to feel like that. Mama is not Papa.

As we pass the stairway, I look down and see that Papa's shoes are missing from the rack by the front door. He is not home. Relief floods through me, and I remember Thomas' words: Andrew is a bad man. Keep Tobias away from him.

I think I should start calling Papa by his name, Andrew, instead. Mama does that now, and Mama is always right.

We go into my room and sit on the bed, his back facing me.

"Are you sure you're okay with this? We can wait for Mama."

"If I trust anyone, Bea, it's you. You can do this," he replies, pulling his shirt over his head. It's easier this time — the bandages prevent the skin from sticking.

"This might hurt," I say as feel around the binding. He nods and holds his breath. Remembering how Mama did it yesterday, I start to unravel the bandages, and they fall to the floor in a bloody heap. The skin beneath is coloured a deep pink, little flecks of dark red dried-up blood sticking to the edges of the wounds. Some of them, Mama had to stitch up — where did she learn to do it? Her voice echoes in my head: _I've fixed my fair share of battle wounds._

Tobias winces as the cold air hits his bare back. "Talk to me," he says as I grab the antiseptic bottle and dab some of it onto a cotton pad. "Distract me. That way, it'll hurt less."

"Okay," I say. His back arches as I touch the cotton to his skin, and a hiss escapes his lips. Now is the perfect time to ask him questions, I realize. "Tell me about Thomas."

He smiles through the pain, and I work across his back. "We met when I was your age, seven, but not in the best way. It was the night that Marcus tried to strangle me." Fingers light as a feather, I trace an old scar, a single wisp of silver-white dancing along his shoulder blade like a snowflake in the crisp air of the colder months, like a strand of hair from Thomas' head, like the handle of a knife honed to perfection so that the edge is as sharp and thin as the tip of a knitting needle. I grab fresh bandages to cover it up.

"He went on about how easy it would be to kill me as he held me by my throat," Tobias continues with a tiny voice, the voice of a small child being reprimanded by their father, and I understand without him saying how hard it is for him to tell me this. "The look in his eyes was pure evil. It hurt so, so bad… I was gasping for breath, and black spots were covering my eyes, and I thought my heart was going to burst. I thought I was going to… _die_ but… he let me go, and I crumpled onto the floor. He said that for sparing my life, I would owe him. I would stay with him. His face was so close to me that I could smell the alcohol on his breath—"

"Alcohol?" I interrupt, wrapping the white stretchy fabric around his stomach and back one more time. "What's that?"

"It's like magic juice," he answers, "that makes you act crazy sometimes. He keeps it in the cabinet just out of my reach. As if I would actually try to steal it. I'm not the idiot." He winces. "Ow."

"Sorry. Too tight?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"Keep talking," I say as I wrap it around again.

He starts, "He left me there, and I waited until he was asleep before pulling myself over to the window. I climbed out and down the tree, and then I just waited at the bottom until I caught my breath. It was a starry night as far as I remember, the first in a while, when I met Thomas. I didn't know where I was going, and I just ended up dragging myself along the brick walls until I reached the factionless sector.

"Thomas was there, as if he were waiting for me, as if he knew I would be coming. _Miracle_ , that's the word. He found me and gave me everything I needed. He got that scar on his face while getting me bread, and he washed my back with his drinking water, even though he would go thirsty. He gave all this to a boy he'd only just met, a boy he didn't know, out of the goodness of his heart… but I knew if Marcus found me with him, then Thomas would be in danger. So, I left. But I came back every time the beatings were too bad, and each time I brought him bread and water to make up for the first night, and he gave me a square of cheese and patched up my back. I went 'home' in the mornings."

"But yesterday…" I say, trailing off.

"Yesterday," he says, "You and Mama changed my life, Bea-Tris. You woke me up from my nightmare." _Me and Mama. Me — Bea-Tris. Abnegation Me, Dauntless Me… just Me._

"If we hadn't… if we'd waited until morning…"

"I might be dead." He says it matter-of-factly, as one would say that they have had an okay day, a fine one, nothing special. The weight of his fingers presses against mine, and he helps me finish the bandaging.

"You're not," I blurt out. He looks surprised. " _Dead_ , I mean. I've never seen someone more alive."

White teeth shine against upturned lips, and a small dimple appears in one of his cheeks to match the one in his chin, a perfect pair. I put my thumb in the chin-one, and it fits. I giggle, and he takes the gauze-roll away from me.

"Your turn," he says, taking my hand and undoing the wrapping. He dampens the cotton with liquid and runs it along the cuts. A deep, stinging pain rushes through me like lightning from my wrist, running up through my veins into my brain and my heart.

"Ow," I whisper, laughing humourlessly. "Sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" he says, grabbing the gauze.

"I'm pathetic. Your pain is so much worse than mine."

He stops. "Don't ever do that."

"What?"

"Think that your pain is somehow less valid just because mine is worse," he answers. I'm quiet for a second, and all I can do is nod. Stunned is the word.

I say, "You didn't have to go to school to be the smartest boy I've ever met."

He smiles, and making him smile is the best thing I've ever done.

Mama comes in then, just as he's finished wrapping up my wrist. Her eyes beam with pride, and I know it's not just me she's proud of. It's me, and it's Toby, and it's Caleb.

"Did you speak to him?" I ask, standing up. Toby gets up too. "Caleb, I mean."

She nods. "Yes. I think you should go talk to him, Tris." I look at Tobias, and he smiles, letting me know that he'll be okay without me.

"Okay," I say before squeezing Toby's hand and making my way across the hall. Caleb is sitting on the floor cross-legged, and his shoulders are hanging loose like he's let go of years of fear.

He looks up and beams at me. "Beatrice! Come sit with me." I join him on the floor.

"What did Mama want?" I ask, even though I already know.

He says, "She told me that it's okay that I like to read. She said that she's proud of my intelligence, not ashamed of it, and that if I want, she'll take me to the Erudite compound to get more of them. I can't believe it! It's like a dream!"

I smile at my brother. "I'm happy for you, Caleb. Really."

"Hey, Beatrice?"

"Yes?"

He pauses, guilt flooding his features. "I'm really sorry about everything."

"I know," I say. "It's okay. I love you, Caleb. You did what you had to, what Papa made you do."

Then his eyes light up, like he's just remembered something important. "Beatrice, you'll never guess what else Mama told me."

"What?" I ask, suddenly curious. It seems curiosity is infectious around here.

"Papa," he says quietly, leaning in close like he's a spy from his mystery books, divulging secret information, "was born in Erudite."

I gasp loudly, and he shushes me, putting a finger to his lips. Papa, Erudite-born? Maybe that was what she meant when she called Papa a hypocrite. Then I remember that Mama wasn't born here either. But was Mama an Erudite too? Or was she from somewhere else? How did she and Papa meet, and why did they choose Abnegation of all places, the enemy faction?

Thoughts swirl around in my head like when I twirl around the straw in my water drink, but I am snapped out of it by the loud, harsh slam of the front door. The sound can only mean two things, one more likely than the other: first, either Mama or Tobias have left, or second…

Papa is home, and by the sound of the slam, he's angry.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Natalie!" Papa growls like a malicious dog, the clomp of his feet loud against the floor, even buffered by the plain, grey rug; it seems he's kept his shoes on in his rage, and they will dirty the carpeting. "You have some explaining to do!"

My breath catches in my throat, and my heart pounds in my ears like the ceremonial drums of Choosing Day. I've only heard them once, when I snuck out to listen — music is self-indulgent — but they were loud, ominous, signifying a change that could make or break a person, reconstruct or ruin their life. Papa's footsteps grow louder.

I fear for Mama, for the weight of Papa's anger will fall upon her shoulders, and I fear for Tobias, because he will be caught in the explosion. So I stand up, because I am brave, and I shrug off Caleb's warning hand that snatches my elbow and make my way into the hallway, no doors to hide behind, no walls to protect me.

Tobias catches my eye from my bedroom and beckons me inside; I follow, and Mama holds both of us in her arms as Papa stomps around in the kitchen downstairs. Caleb's bedroom door slams shut, and a click resounds in the air. I hope that he's hiding somewhere safe.

 _Somewhere safe…_ Suddenly, anywhere near Papa feels dangerous. He's never been like this before! What is happening to him? Somehow, I doubt that all this is a result of stress at work, this evil inside of him that has turned him into someone to hide from. Then, I realize that I've taken Tobias away from one bad man and thrusted him into the line of fire of another, and Thomas' words have never seemed more true, more wise. We should have kept Tobias away from Papa… from Andrew.

He calls out again for Mama, and she holds us closer under her arms. "Stay here with Tobias," she whispers to me, and I nod, even if I want to go with her. _Pick your battles, Baby._ Right now, I need to keep Toby safe. She places a kiss on each of our foreheads, checks to make sure Caleb's door is locked, and takes a deep breath before going downstairs. She mutters something under her breath, but I can't hear.

"Come on," Tobias says, tugging at my arm. "Let's go."

"Go where?" I ask. We are supposed to stay here.

"Listen. At the top of the stairs."

"No!" I cry, holding him back. He's startled, like it was a given that we disobey Mama. "I need to keep you safe."

His eyes soften, and a small smile plays on his lips. "Bea-Tris," he says, taking my hand. "We'll be safe. I just need to know if they're fighting about me."

I bite my lip so hard that blood rises to the surface. "Are you sure? What if he…"

"Tris," he says, using my Dauntless name. "We need to be there. For Mama."

I nod, realizing that it's not just us that he could hurt. It doesn't go over my head that he called her Mama. "Okay, Toby with four fears. Let's be brave."

"Dauntless," he adds with a dimpled smile.

"Yeah," I say, and we walk out together into the hallway, into the crossfire, and perch at the top of the stairs. It's angled so that, if we lean to the right, we can see into the combined kitchen and dining room that are separated by a stone-glass island, but they can't see us. Toby and I, with our Abnegation robes, blend right into the grey fabric that covers the stairs and the walls. Mama and Andrew's loud voices carry across the little space that separates us.

"It's him, isn't it? There are 'missing child' posters with his name on them everywhere, Nat! Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?" He's awfully close to her — I've never seen them that close. Then he leans over and presses his finger into her shoulder, hard enough to send her back a bit. That's the first time I've seen my parents touch.

She growls back, "No, honestly, I didn't. There are no photos of him and, despite your birth faction, Andrew, you aren't terribly smart."

"He was Erudite," I whisper to Toby. He nods slightly, enthralled by the scrap, listening for clues.

Andrew's face turns red like the tomatoes we sometimes get to eat for dinner. "You little—"

"Need I remind you of where _I_ was born, Andrew?" Her muscles twitch, and it all clicks in my head — Mama must have been Dauntless.

"It's almost been a decade," he snarls back. "You've gone soft, Nat. I would suggest you back down now and get rid of the boy before I turn him in to his father. Why is he here, anyways?"

"You know why he's here," she says, low and threatening, but I am not scared of her. "You've known for years, and yet you never told me. You never said anything." Pause. "Andrew, you are a coward."

"Well, Nat," he replies, "I can be a coward here. If you still believe that cowardice is the enemy, go back to Dauntless."

"You aren't just a coward. You're selfish," she spits at him, and his face contorts with rage. She goes on. "Sometimes the two are synonymous, Andrew. Just like bravery and selflessness. But you… You belong nowhere. You are neither smart nor selfless, neither brave nor honest, and certainly not kind. But my children, including Tobias Eaton, are all of those things,"

I look at Toby, and there are tears in his eyes. I know they are happy tears. He takes my hand, but doesn't look away from Mama. There are tears in his eyes, but there is also love.

There is no love in Andrew's eyes when he looks at Mama. "You've chosen the wrong side, Nat, the side of weakness. Marcus is our leader, and you've chosen to be unfaithful." He smirks. "As I recall, that is _treason_." What does that mean?

Mama's breathing quickens. "Are you threatening me, Andrew?"

He comes closer and strokes her cheeks with his thumb, a loving gesture filled with hate. "Really, Nat. You're my wife. I didn't want it to come to this."

Thomas was right.

"Maybe I was blinded by love when I married you," she hisses, "but now I see you for who you are. I want you out, Andrew, by the end of the day, or we can test just how soft I've become."

He nods his head, but there is a smirk on his face. Mama may have won the fight, but she's loosing the battle. "I'll send someone to collect my things," he says as he backs out of the kitchen. "Perhaps my _new friend_."

Andrew turns and makes his way to the door when his eyes connect with mine. Toby and I freeze in our spots, his arm wrapped tightly around my shoulders, hearts battering in our chests. A loud gulp comes from Toby, and Andrew's eyes flicker to him. The smirk on his face grows as he changes direction, moving towards us.

"Ah," he says, suddenly calm, and the blood drains from my face. "You must be Tobias." No! I should have listened to Mama, kept Toby safe, stayed in my bedroom… Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mama's breathing stop, and she marches over to us.

"Leave him alone." Her voice is full of warning. "I wasn't kidding."

Andrew's eyes trail along the bandages peeking out from Toby's gunmetal-coloured shirt. "Yes, I suppose it would be unfair to kick him while he's down. But I think we all know that I don't play fair."

I have to do something. The taste of vomit rises to the top of my throat as I say, "Papa, don't hurt him. He's my best friend."

His eyes soften for a moment, but only a moment. Suddenly, they are harder than ever, and the lines in his face make him look older, worn down. "Like I care," he mutters, and in that moment, my father is gone. Papa is gone, and Andrew has taken his place.

Andrew starts up the stairs towards us, and all hope I have left in me vanishes into the cold winter air outside our grey-walled house. Then, without warning, he's fallen to the floor, and Mama's elbows are locked around his throat, her bare foot pressing down on the squishy part of his back. He coughs, and blood splatters onto the rug.

"I may have chosen the side without governmental power," she hisses at him, tightening her grip on his throat, "but it is not the side of weakness."

"You _have_ gone soft, Nat," he persists, but he winces as her foot presses further into his back. "I'd be dead right now if you hadn't."

"I'm not a monster," she replies, "but you still shouldn't tempt me." Mama glances up at us, and the look on her face leads me to believe that she thinks we will be scared of her. We are not; instead, we are proud. Our Mama is strong. She is brave. She is what we want to be.

She lets him go; she is merciful. "Get out, Andrew, and don't you dare come back and threaten me or my kids ever again."

"Soft like a teddy bear," he mutters as he backs away, rubbing his throat, and the door closes gently behind him. Tobias lets go of my hand and runs down the stairs to Mama, where she pulls him into a hug.

Then, Toby turns around and calls to me. "Come down here, Bea-Tris." I join them, and we all stay there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, and soon enough Caleb joins as well.

It's over. Finally, it's over

* * *

"Why can't Toby come?" I whine as Mama wraps my hair around itself and secures it with a clear elastic. It's the only thing I own that isn't grey. "I'll miss him."

"You know why he can't come, Tris."

I sigh. "Yeah, yeah. Marcus is looking for him, he's behind on the _curriculum_ , blah blah…"

She smiles as she helps my arms into the backpack. "He'll miss you too, you know."

I suck on the left side of my bottom lip. "Sure."

"I will," calls a voice from the other side of the closed door. Mama laughs and goes to open the door, and Toby stumbles inside — he was leaning against it.

"Eavesdropper," I mock as he hugs me. The mood is lighter around the house now that Andrew is gone.

Since the day we found Toby, one week ago today, Mama and I have gone each night to feed the factionless; we still haven't been able to find Thomas. Each night, I stay with Toby until he falls asleep. Sometimes he has nightmares about Marcus — one time, he had one about Andrew. When he has nightmares, I stay with him all night. Honestly, Caleb and I have practically switched rooms.

"Not eavesdropping," he replies, ruffling my hair. The bun comes undone, and I groan. Mama only smiles and comes to do it again as Toby looks at her apologetically. "As I was saying, I just so happened to be leaning against that door…"

I laugh. "Oh, be quiet, Tobias." He feigns a look of hurt at my use of his full name, and I whack him playfully. It's been days since he's winced at a playful touch, and today is no exception. He smiles.

"Well then, _Beatrice_ ," he counters, and I groan again, throwing my head back. Mama tells me to be still, and I mutter an apology as she tugs at my head. Toby grabs my hand. "I _will_ miss you, you know."

As his deep blue eyes like the sky or the sea stare down at me — he's grown quite a bit, now that he's eating properly — I understand that he will miss me just as much as I'll miss him. "Yeah, I do."

Then he smirks. "Have fun in faction history."

"Gah!" I yell as I tackle him, but I'm not strong enough to push him over. He laughs heartily and pulls me into another hug. I huff, failing to cross my arms in fake annoyance — the embrace is nice, but I won't tell him that. It'll just inflate his ego.

"Mama! Beatrice! Hurry up," Caleb complains, already dressed and ready and standing impatiently in front of his closed bedroom door. His legs bounce up and down in anticipation, and I can tell he's excited to return to school after a week. I, on the other hand, could not be dreading it more — _it_ being both going to school and leaving Tobias for a whole day. Mama didn't want either of us to go until Toby was settled, but she couldn't put if off any longer; I think it had something to do with Andrew and Marcus as well. She can't protect us if we're at school.

I still don't know where Andrew is staying now that Mama kicked him out. It's hard to remember any friends of his, looking back; the only person who ever came over for dinner was Marcus.

"Coming, Caleb," Mama replies, grabbing my old coat from my closet. I smile when I see that coat with its holes and scruffy fabric; it reminds me of two things. Number one, the little factionless girl whose arms are now warm and snug, and number two, the night my life changed, and I met Tobias.

I don't even mind how it makes my arms itch. Winter is almost over, and soon it will be spring.

As I go to join Mama and Caleb by the door, Toby stops me and places in my palm a little black stone. "Black like Dauntless," he says, closing my fingers over it. "To remind you that you are brave."

Tears prick my eyes. "Thank you, Toby. I love it." His hand stays over mine for a second before he lets go.

He whispers, "We believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another." When those words leave his lips, I think of Christina and her short, black hair. She stood up for me; she is brave. Now that Andrew is gone, maybe we can be friends again.

I bring the stone to my lips before placing it in my pocket. "I'll keep it with me," I say. "Always."

"Beatrice!" Caleb calls again. I press a delicate kiss to Tobias' cheek before hastily joining them.

The bus picks us up at the station, but no one moves. Each grey-clad Abnegation child waits for someone else to board before them; the one to enter first will be the most selfish. It's a game we play every day, a game that nobody wins. Sometimes the bus leaves, and we all walk to school together, no one a step ahead of anyone else. Maybe to them, the unity is endearing, but it makes me sick.

Today, I enter first. Caleb doesn't even try to stop me; instead, he enters second. The thought that he doesn't have to be Abnegation, that he doesn't have to hide his Erudite, sets him free. He's no longer playing their game, and neither am I.

I am Abnegation, but I am not _this_ kind of Abnegation. I am the kind that does selfless things that matter, not the kind that plays along with pointless charades, and I will not pretend to be.

None of the others board the bus, and the doors shut with a puff of fine powder. I watch through the glass as the bus spurs along, leaving them in our dust, and they set off walking in our direction. Soon, they disappear behind us.

The bus' shaking throws me off balance, and I fall into an empty seat.

"Looks like the Stiff decided to join the rest of society," the Candor girl beside me sneers.

Tears threaten to fall. "Christina," I whisper, shocked that she would say such mean things to me.

Guilt flashes across her face, but she continues. "What, you got sick of being 'selfless'? Finally realized that your life sucks?"

"Christina," I whimper, cheeks wet. Her eyes well up as well, but she doesn't break. "I thought we were friends."

"Friends don't abandon each other, _Beatrice_."

"No!" I cry out. "I didn't abandon you! My father—"

"Don't make excuses," she says, angry tears streaming down her face.

I swallow the knot in my throat, but it doesn't budge. "I didn't…" I stop trying to convince her when she turns and faces the window. We sit in silence for the rest of the ride, and I don't wait for everyone else to get off the bus when we come to a stop.

The day passes slowly. Throughout faction history, I think about Tobias, Christina, Andrew, Marcus… I think about Mama, and how she was born in Dauntless, and how I will transfer in nine years and become a traitor to my family, and maybe never see them again. Still, it's the best faction history class ever.

Then, lunch rolls around, and I sit at my usual cafeteria table with Caleb, Susan, and Robert (our neighbours), when the sound of yelling fills the large room.

"What did you just say?" It's a Candor boy with dark, shiny hair and striking green eyes, and he's yelling at another Candor, tan with black hair that stops at her jaw… Christina.

"You heard me, Peter!" she yells back, standing tall. She's brave for sure, but she's also stupid. He could knock her out with one blow.

An Amity boy runs into the room. "Hey, don't fight—" The boy, Peter, glares at him, and he cowers. So much for keeping the peace. But he's still brave for trying — maybe Amity and Dauntless aren't so different. Then I imagine the tattoos and piercings that cover the men and women who jump on and off trains, and I shake my head.

He makes a fist, and I see Christina shrink back. Without thinking, I run over to them and shout, "Hey, leave Christina alone!"

Shock envelops him, but he raises his eyebrows. "A Stiff," he says, letting out a mean-spirited laugh. "Do you have a death wish?"

I stand tall, suddenly just as stupid as Christina. But I won't back down like the Amity boy, because courage runs through my veins; it's in my blood, in Mama's blood. "I'm not scared of you."

Then a terrible pain runs through me from my nose, and a warm liquid drips onto my lip. I am knocked to the ground, head hitting the floor, and I see red stain the marble — it's blood. A loud uproar fills the cafeteria, and I see black cloth surround Peter, and suddenly he disappears from sight. Spots cloud my vision, my head throbs, and the last thing I see is a dark-skinned boy dressed in black before I fade into darkness.

 _We believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Painfully bright, blinding, a searing white light beats against my closed eyelids, and I groan. If this is heaven… An unfamiliar pattern, the shuffling of sneaker-clad feet in my direction is loud in my ears. Caleb's feet don't move like that — these are confident strides, quick yet light, and I imagine that their owner walks with their chest puffed out.

"Beatrice?" a voice says, child-like, boyish. Staggered breaths are pushed from my lips, and desperate inhales follow them. His voice sounds far away, an echo, and there's a ringing in my ears. He says my name again, louder this time, and a hand touches my shoulder. I recoil.

Disapproving, another voice fills the room. "Hey, bro, she's a Stiff. They don't like to be touched."

"Sorry," the boy mutters, backing away from me. "I forgot, Zeke."

Turning my head, I press my nose against the tough pillow and open my eyes; I am too smart to face the light and be blinded. Once they come into focus, the walls of the room are antique-white, like the pages of an old book, and lined with smoky green beams that hold the ceiling up. Through the glass window of the wooden cabinet beside me, I can see rows and rows of syringes and clear bottles, and on the bottom shelf is a red bag with a plus on it, just like Mama's: ah, the infirmary. I've never been in here before.

An ache at the back of my head, right at the point where it curves in, reminds me why I'm here; it's a shooting kind of pain, where you get this disturbing feeling that if you touch the place, it'll feel like mush beneath your fingertips, like raw, tenderized meat. I can see my nose as well, which must mean that it's swelling nicely — it's discoloured to a subtle brown, as far as I can see. That's as far as I will see, too, unless I catch a fleeting glimpse in a puddle of melted snow.

"He got me good," I mutter, tapping feather-light touches across my face to feel for damage. I stay clear of the mush-injury. "Jerk."

" _Jerk_ is right. He hit a girl, for goodness…" The voice of the younger boy startles me, and I swivel in his direction, an action that I immediately regret. _Ouch._

"Who are you?" I ask, propping my palms up under me. I push into them, but my elbows buckle and I fall back — the boy catches me. In the back of my mind, the feeling that I know him clouds my memory… then I realize that he's the boy I saw before I fell unconscious.

His skin is dark like the cabinet's wood, eyes the same colour, and his black hair is cut almost exactly down to his scalp. Through his kind smile, his teeth shine white against the dark colour of his lips. He looks about my age, maybe Caleb's, and he's wearing Dauntless clothes.

"My name is Uriah," he says, setting me down against the headrest. He winces. "Sorry, I know you don't like to be touched."

"Yeah." Tobias' is the only touch I like, but in this case, I am grateful for Uriah's help. I smile, and he relaxes. "I heard the guy over there scold you." In the corner, the older boy's ears perk up when I mention him. "Caleb, my brother, does that too. Or, well, he used to."

"Used to?"

I shrug. "He doesn't do it anymore." The boy — Uriah — seems to want to ask more questions, but he catches his tongue. The Abnegation in me tells me to deflect the topic from me, so I turn to the older boy. He looks just like Uriah, only older and taller and more _sophisticated_ , and he seems to have lost most of the youthful chubbiness in his cheeks _._ "Are you his brother?"

He nods. "My name is Zeke. I'm nine." Like Tobias… maybe they could be friends. Internally, I shake my head. To be friends, they would have to meet.

"I'm seven," Uriah interrupts, earning himself a glare from Zeke, to which he responds by sticking out his tongue. Yup, definitely seven. "You?"

"I'm seven, also," I reply. "Thanks for saving me."

He shrugs. "I didn't save you, really. I just carried you over here."

"Don't be so modest, Uriah," Zeke pipes up from his chair in the corner. "You punched the living daylights out of the Candor boy, first."

"He was a pansycake!" Uriah wails, turning a nice shade of pink. I think it compliments his skin tone — he's rather adorable. "I think he deserved it. Try taking on someone his own size…"

"What happened to him?" I ask, realizing that he's not in the infirmary. Pride flashes across Zeke's face as he gestures at Uriah.

"My little brother put him in the hospital."

I sigh. "Well, he deserved it." They both smirk at the same time, looking even more like brothers, but then Uriah's falls.

"That kid is pure evil," he grumbles. "Apparently, he does this a lot."

"Does what?"

"Picks fights," finishes Zeke, resting his knees on the arms of his chair. "And then lies about it. Of course, they all believe him. He's Candor, after all."

I frown. "Uriah, did he get you in trouble?" He hesitates, but nods. Guilt claws at me, leaving trails of aching skin along my churning stomach. "I'm so sorry! You did this for me, and…"

"Beatrice," he interrupts, placing his hand beside me on the bed, not touching; his knuckles are bruised, one of them cracked and caked in dried blood. Bile rises to my throat, but I swallow down the bitter taste. In the last few weeks, I've seen more blood than in a lifetime. "I don't regret it for a second. He got what was coming for him — I was just the one to give it to him."

I give him a weak smile, shuffling closer to the headrest so my neck is under less strain. The three of us sit in silence for a moment, before… "What's a pansy cake?"

Zeke howls with laughter, startling me in the best kind of way. Playful, a pout forms on Uriah's dark lips as he complains loudly. I've never been in such a lively place… and this is the infirmary. I am hit by the sudden desire to be around these two more often, the desire to be a part of this liveliness.

"It's an old Dauntless insult," Zeke explains through fits of roaring laughs, head tossed back so I could barely hear him, even with his thunderous voice. "Uri is trying to bring it back." I giggle a little bit, but stop when a sharp pain strikes the back of my head.

"It's going to catch on!" Uriah insists, pumping his fist into the air; just then, a woman walks through the double doors.

Her hair is like mine, blonde, but softer, a pale yellow instead of thinly sliced gold; it makes me think of the yolk of a boiled egg. She's dressed in the same colour as the bedsheets, an angel white, and a sweet smile graces her lips. She looks kind. There's a patch of blue, the symbol of an eye, sewed into her pointed hat — Erudite.

"Beatrice," she says, eyes bright with amusement. "You've woken up."

"How long was I out?" I ask, because I don't know. Believe it or not, I've never been unconscious before.

She smiles reassuringly, and I am suddenly calm; I feel she should be Amity. "Not long. A half hour, tops." That seems like long to me; I've just lost thirty minutes that I will never get back. Or I've just taken a nap during the day. "Your mother has been notified… as has your father. They'll be here any minute."

"What?" I shout at the nice lady. "You called my father? Why would you call him?"

Surprise darts across each of their faces and hardens like clay. Then I realize that they don't know about Andrew, that they _can't_ know about Andrew. I just wish Mama would tell me why.

"Sweetie?" The nurse looks upset, like she genuinely cares about me. "Why wouldn't I call him? Is everything alright?"

Even though I hate doing it, I feign my innocent expression. My eyes grow watery, and I stick out my bottom lip, letting it quiver. "I just don't want to interrupt Papa at work for something so minor. He works for the city council, you know."

She smiles, convinced. I am Abnegation, of course; this is just me being selfless.

"Oh, yes. He's very important," she says, sympathetic. "But this is not minor, I'm afraid. Your nose is only bruised — no fractures — but you have a small concussion. Plus, you strained some of the tendons in your left wrist when you fell." A quiet, buzzing noise comes from her pocket, and she pulls out a small, square device with a dark green screen; words flash across it, contorted to fit the 0 based pattern on which the system is based. I watch, enthralled.

"It's a pager," Uriah whispers. Having grown up Dauntless, I am not surprised that he is familiar with medicinal technology. He's probably been here his fair share of times. "They use it to send messages from far."

Blue-patch nurse's eyes absorb the coded words, reading them as plainly as she would a children's book. She mutters: "Emergency call, D-C, Room 12." A frown plays on her lips, which are painted bright red like a stop sign, and she sighs. "Sorry, sweetie, but I've been called to the hospital at the Dauntless Compound. They're short-staffed at the moment." A pause lingers in the air. "Your parents should be here soon."

After slugging a light blue backpack over her shoulder, the exact colour of the lighter spot in Tobias' eyes, she hurries out, the double doors swinging behind her like the blonde ponytail she wears.

Zeke catches my gaze from the corner of my eye; his expression is skeptical, concerned, curious at my outburst — sometimes I forget that others are allowed to be curious. "Beatrice…"

As the doors bounce open again, a dark shadow approaching draws my attention, clad in grey, and my chest tightens in anticipation — I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding as the figure is hit by the light and my mother's golden hair locked in a bun glimmers beneath it. Then my heart quickens again; Tobias is with her, holding onto her fingers like a life boat, ears burning a deep red colour.

He can't be here.

"Mama!" I call as she bursts through the door, cradling Toby into her side. He's half-hidden in the coat we got him, the hood pulled down over his face, hiding his beautiful eyes. Mama's eyebrows are knit together, and she searches the room as if for a threat. From the anxiety painted on her expression, it's clear that bringing him was not her idea.

"Beatrice!" she calls back, dashing over to me — or being dragged, more accurately, by a worried Tobias. He stops at the foot of the bed, bouncing impatiently, and he waits.

"Head, nose… left wrist," I reply, knowing from the look that he's asking what hurts. Nodding, he embraces me gently, wary of the places that I listed. Closing my eyes, I let myself forget for a second the tension that is making its home in my forehead. A soft hum breaks through my lips as I hug him, resting my hands lightly on his healing back. Then I remember, and panic strikes me like lightening in a storm. I push him back. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to come," he says. "Mama tried to stop me…"

"And you still came?" I cry out, stricken by terror. They don't know that Andrew will be here soon. "You have to go! It's not safe here, T—" I cut myself off, remembering Zeke and Uriah — they can't know his name. I peek at them, and Mama notices, following my line of sight.

They scramble to their feet and, noting her grey garb, nod politely. Stepping forward, she shakes their hands, the Dauntless greeting, and shock etches across their faces. My mother is so selfless that she adapts her greetings to make others more comfortable — oh, and she was Dauntless-born.

"Natalie Prior," she addresses them, her grip firm and adept. "Beatrice's mother."

"Ezekiel," replies Zeke, the first to gather his bearings. "This is my brother, Uriah."

He smiles shyly, suddenly losing his confidence. Mama's eyes shine with recognition. "You are the boy who saved her, aren't you?" He nods, a warm blush settling over his cheeks, and she takes his hands again, emanating gratitude. "Thank you."

"Of course, Mrs. Prior," he replies nervously. Something flashes across Mama's face, and she examines him.

"Are you…" She pauses, as if entertaining a twisted sort-of theory, something unbelievable. "What is your mother's name, Uriah?"

He looks puzzled. "Her name is Hana, ma'am. Hana Pedrad."

"So it is," she murmurs, lost in her thoughts. "She's raised you both well. Thank you again, Uriah, for taking care of my daughter." It's an odd compliment, but we do not dwell.

Tobias' grip tightening around my hand reminds me of Andrew's impending arrival. Although Zeke and Uriah might figure our secret out, it is more important to keep Toby safe. "Mama, _he_ is coming. We must hide…" I jut my chin in Tobias' direction, not wanting to compromise his identity just yet.

Mama's eyes widen, and her chest rises quickly in a shuddering inhale. Shaking me to my core, she curses under her breath as she pulls Tobias into her arms again. "How could I forget? I shouldn't have brought you here, Baby. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he replies, his voice wavering like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, the wind rushing through his hair, clothes, pushing him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. "I needed to see Bea." His hand finds a stray tendril of my golden hair and twirls it between his fingers. There is a slight pressure at my scalp as he does so that makes me sigh.

An idea springs to my mind. "Uriah!" His spine straightens, head up, as if he's a military man. Curiosity seems to be drowning him and Zeke, but more than that, worry. They are good; they will help. We can trust them. "Have you been here before?"

"Yes. Many times."

"Is there anywhere we could hide him?" I point at Tobias.

For a moment, he thinks hard. "How about there?" Looking like a bed sheet, a white drape hangs from above, bound to a metal rod just inches below the ceiling by clear, plastic rings, like a shower curtain. Mama pushes it aside, and it seems heavy by the way she leans her body forward. Behind it is another cot like mine, empty.

"That could work," she says. Toby presses a kiss to my forehead before rushing over to her. He climbs into the cot, and Mama pulls the sheets up over his head. Just as the curtains fall back and Mama stands beside me, the doors swing open again, and a lean man storms into the room. The expression on his face does not betray him, but his posture does; his muscles are taut, fists clenched, and a vein is protruding from his forehead because of the strain he is putting on keeping himself neutral.

"Hello, Beatrice," he says through gritted teeth, when he notices the boys. Consciously, he loosens his jaw and rubs it between his thumb and index finger, ready to give a performance. A worried looks spreads across his face as he rushes over to me, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Zeke and Uriah tense. "My, my, I was so worried when the school called that I left work right away! Are you alright, sweetheart?"

"Just fine, Father," I reply, stone-cold. Mama grips my hand.

"Andrew," she acknowledges with a nod. "I hope you didn't have trouble getting out of work?" I hope he did have trouble. I hope he missed the bus and had to walk all the way here. I hope he almost got hit by the very bus he missed…

He moves his jaw around, and I hear a click. "Not at all. Marcus, as you know, is very _understanding_ when it comes to matters of a child's health." I freeze, imagining poor Tobias listening under the covers, smothered by the heat, especially in his new coat. He's scared of small spaces, too. Mama squeezes my hand, reminding me to keep myself in check, and Andrew catches the movement. "Why, Natalie, don't you think that holding her hand is embarrassingly self-indulgent?"

"For me or for her, Andrew? Because right now, our daughter is injured in a hospital bed." Her tone is challenging, dangerous almost, and the image of his blood staining the carpet at the base of the stairs comes back to me. It seems he remembers too, as he moves away from us.

He sets his stare on the boys in the corner, who nod at him but make no move to approach. Then he turns to Mama, something flaring in his eyes. "You know, they look like—"

"Andrew," she cut him off, glaring intently. This was a final warning. She looks down at me. "Beatrice, would you like some medicine for your head?" I nod, suddenly overcome by the throbbing pain that I had forgotten about in the drama.

"Yes please. Thank you, Mama."

She turns to the boys. "Ezekiel, Uriah, would you go find a nurse, please?" They nod, fear and confusion clear on their faces, and set off, the doors swinging behind them, and I realize that Mama has just sent a message to Andrew: _mess with us, and that nurse will be for you_. She doesn't say it out loud, but the words still ring in the air like our school bell.

Seething with anger, Andrew glares at Mama; as I look at his hands, I see that there is blood seeping from them where his nails dig in. Mama didn't even have to touch him to spill his blood. He spins on his heels and makes for the door.

"Don't forget," he says, gripping the handle in his bloody palm. "Treason is not a crime easily forgotten." Mama blanches at his retreating figure, but only for a moment. Then, she grabs a cloth from the cabinet and wipes Andrew's blood off the handle. It gleams, copper, once again.

She spins around with purpose shining in her eyes just as Tobias crawls out from beneath the curtain. "I'm going to train you both."

Tobias voices our confusion: "Train us for what, Mama?"

She beams, twinkling like the star from my nursery rhymes as a baby. "For Dauntless."

"What?" Surprise engulfs me like an ocean wave. Toby seems the same, frozen mid-climb into my cot — perhaps his wave was too cold. He unfreezes and climbs in, wrapping his arms around me. His coat is gone, and he is in a grey t-shirt and slacks. I move closer to him.

"Both of you want to _transfer_ to Dauntless, correct?" She puts emphasis on transfer; she will not call it defect. When we nod, Tobias a bit more hesitant to admit it, she continues. "Well, the initiation there is very vigorous and demanding, and, while I am not saying that you wouldn't be able to handle it, I think we should start training now so you have an advantage." Something flashes in her eyes, burning, as she stares at me. "And there is no way that I am _this_ happen to you or Tobias ever again."

My mind swirls in every direction, imagining the thrill of jumping off a train, the pride of sinking a knife into the bullseye of a target, the rush of wind in my hair as I run through the forest… it seems too good to be true. "Really, Mama? But we'd be… we'd be leaving you behind."

Mama takes my hand and places it over her heart. I feel it beat beneath my palm, slow, steady. "You wouldn't be leaving me here. I love you, Baby, and you, Tobias, if you pick Abnegation or Dauntless, or Amity, or Candor, or even Erudite like your brother." Her nose wrinkles up at the last one, but the smile is still on her face, and I know she is joking.

"Where is Caleb?" I ask.

Her eyes soften. "He's in class. There are still two hours left of school."

I pout, playful. "You know, if you'd just have let Tobias come to school with me in the first place…"

"Bea wouldn't have felt the need to hurt herself to get my attention," he finishes, smirking at me. I gasp, smacking his arm.

"You egotistical—"

"Okay, okay," Mama interrupts, laughing. "That's enough of that. Believe me, I have no intention of letting anything come between you two again. Now, let's get back to training."

Currently, there is only one question left: "When do we start?"

Mama grins.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Heart hammering, I duck behind the trunk of the tree, hidden from the soft glow of the moon. My ears are alert, listening intently for the slightest of sounds, and my breaths are shallow as I press my stomach against the jagged bark, watching, waiting. My hair, freshly cut, gets caught in the wood, and as I tug at it, I see a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye: _gun._ My thin, slender fingers wrap around the weapon nestled in my pocket without hesitation, ready. A branch breaks behind me, sending an ominous crack spiralling through the deserted forest like a clap of thunder, and also sending me running in the opposite direction with a piercing pain in my chest.

"Freeze!" a voice calls, loud, demanding, forcing a jolt of panic up my spine like an electric current as I whip around to face my attacker. Dropping my gun with a clank, I stop moving and throw my hands in the air, tears streaming down my cheeks, trembling…

With laughter, of course.

Tobias drops the plastic gun and tackles me, pinning my hands to the ground. Our laughs mingle, ringing out into the indigo sky, and I cry out for mercy. "Okay, okay!"

"Say it!" he demands, leaning closer. His nose brushes mine, and I giggle, scrunching mine up defiantly.

"Never! Not for a thousand cherry tomatoes!"

"Admit it!" Toby cries. I smirk and place a tiny kiss on his nose, causing a rose-coloured blush to spread across his cheeks, joining the flush of exercise. He stutters, "A-admit it!"

"Fine," I drawl, rolling my eyes. "But only because I'm sick of your whining. Ahem… Tobias Eaton, soon-to-be Dauntless prodigy — in three to four years, pending — is better than me at throwing knives."

A look of satisfaction joins the blush and the flush, and he smiles proudly; suddenly, I don't feel bad about compromising my dignity. "And…?" he eggs on, still holding me down.

"And he gets to have my dessert tonight." What a shame — I love cherry tomatoes. Alas, I should not have taken him on. "Now get off me. You're getting dirt in my hair, and Christina will actually kill me, since I can't tell her it was your fault."

"About that…" He rolls off me and helps me sit up, picking a stray leaf out of my hair and playfully presenting it to me like a rose. Rolling my eyes, I swat his hand away. He grins, continuing. "Has Mama said anything to you? You know, about me… telling people where I am?"

"She said she's working on Marcus, but it's not safe yet." I sigh, caressing his cheek. "I know it sucks, but we can't risk it."

Toby shrugs. "Hey, Zeke and Uri aren't _such_ bad company."

"Shut up. You love them."

Today, it has been three years since the incident with Peter. Christina took me into her arms the second I walked through the infirmary's swinging double doors, going on and on about how sorry she was for doubting my friendship, how grateful she was for me standing up for her. After a period of prank-free punishment, Uriah joined us by anonymously trashing Peter's locker: the perfect comeback. Now, her and Uri are my closest friends — apart from Tobias, of course. Zeke and Toby hit it of like I knew they would when we finally introduced them, properly.

Uriah and Zeke are the only two people whom we trusted with knowing about Tobias; even Christina has never met him, nor does she know that he is still alive. Everyone in the city knows _of_ him — posters line every street corner with his name accompanied by the words, 'missing child.' Mama says that if anyone found out that we've been hiding him, she could get charged with kidnapping.

For some reason or another, Andrew still hasn't turned Tobias in. Now that I am older, I understand more. I understand that Andrew's change was as sudden as life and death, and it happened that night… the night that Mama cut my hair. The night that I asked about Tobias for the first time. The night that Marcus came over for dinner.

The brothers have been helping Mama train us — she says that we are too young to decide which faction we will choose now, and we haven't taken the Aptitude Test yet, but she is training us in both self-defence and combat so that we have the option of choosing Dauntless when the time comes. I think the self-defence is for more than that.

Zeke sometimes smuggles us knives — well, he doesn't smuggle them. It turns out that Hana, their mother, was Mama's best friend when they were in Dauntless. She even got us a small handgun, but Mama says we aren't allowed to use it until we are thirteen. That means that Tobias only has another year before he can use it, but I still have three. We don't know where she keeps the gun, or if it's even loaded, but she lets us use these plastic guns to practice our stances. Tonight, Toby decided to challenge me to a duel to see which of us could corner the other — check mate.

Caleb just sticks to normal chess. He's been tutoring Tobias when we get home from school; it's an excuse for him to study higher level material. Sometimes, I sit and listen — it's helpful for me, too. At this point, Caleb and I are at the top of our grade, although we try to tone it down to lower suspicion. If anyone finds out that Mama is letting us break Abnegation rules, she says it could be bad.

Andrew has been staying with Marcus and, in the time he's been there, he has been promoted to Vice Leader of Abnegation. Honestly, he is the last person to deserve that; he is the most selfish person I know.

 _Vice (noun): immoral or wicked behaviour._ Caleb's dictionary sits under my bed, hidden away, but I look through it when I don't know what a word means. Mama told me that Vice means something else in this context, but I still think it describes Andrew. Immoral for all the times he's come around our house, flat out drunk, screaming obscenities and threats at Mama. Wicked for the time we weren't home, and he found Tobias, alone…

Since that day, all of us keep a throwing knife under our pillows. Although just the thought of stabbing someone shakes me to my core, I know I would do it to protect my brother, Mama, or Toby. I am Dauntless; I am brave.

"You got me there," Tobias admits, hauling me to my feet. "I do love them. And Caleb, and Mama…" He trails off, and I feel a pang in my chest when he leaves my name out. I understand — there is no reason he should love me. Plain, grey, selfish me.

Weakly, I smile at him and turn away, trudging through the mud, plastic gun in a loose grip, dangling from my fingers. I know I love Tobias; I have since I saw him, beaten and broken, leaning against that brick wall in Thomas' arms. It's a different kind of love than Caleb's, or Mama's, or even Uriah's… but that doesn't mean that I know what kind it is. He confuses me, that boy with the blue eyes.

He jogs, catching up to me, and when I look up at him, his irises are the colour of the ten o'clock sky. The lighter patches are less prominent in the dark, but as we are struck by the moonlight, they shimmer like the waterfall a few miles north — it's not so much a waterfall as a fountain of nature, but beautiful nonetheless. We walk towards it, listening for the familiar trickle of running water against black rocks, coals almost, and the sizzle of the cool liquid hitting the scorching pavement.

As we enter the hidden cavern, I kneel by the black rocks, picking one up and tossing it in my hands. The smoothness of the stone reminds me of the one in my pocket, the Dauntless stone that Tobias gave to me three years ago. I run the warm stone under the freezing water, revelling in the imbalanced oppositeness, when it hits me.

"This is where you found it," I say, and he nods. I rise to my feet and drop the newer rock, the rock with no memories, in the river. Plop. Taking my old stone from my pocket, the special one that he gave me before I left for school, I hold it, noticing how it is matte in some places where I rubbed the sheen off. I like the feel of those places more, because they are worn with love. "How did you find this place? When did you go? Mama was with you the whole time…"

Here, the moonlight only hits half his face, reflecting off the glimmering water like a crystal, sending bursts of blue light across the cavern. The shadows bounce off the other side of his face, giving and taking, a perfect harmony of light and dark. I notice how handsome he is now that he has grown into himself. He's lost his childish cheeks and replaced them with slender features; his ears are slightly pointed, nose broad and strong, and his lips have grown full and wide. Mama has cut his hair so it is no longer halfway down his neck, and now it nicely frames his face. I think twelve suits him even better than nine.

"I had it with me before I met you," he explains, pulling me down with him so we are sitting on the rocks. Sprays of white-blue river caress my cheeks, and the rush of water is soothing, as is the way he strokes my hair; I let only him see me with my hair down. "I found it the night before you came and saved me from a living nightmare." If only he didn't still have sleeping nightmares…

I close my eyes, humming quietly as he runs his fingers through my golden locks. "Why did you give it to me? It's obviously special to you."

"So are you," he replies without hesitation, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "That's why I gave it to you. Because I love you."

 _He loves me._

"I love you too," I say, and I realize that I didn't even have to think about it. It seems that he didn't, either. There was no nervousness, no jitters, no hesitation between us. And once he said those words, I believed him. He didn't need to convince me, just to tell me. "But, Tobias, I need you to know that I don't understand this, yet."

"Me neither," he agrees. "All I know is that I love you. Not like I love Caleb or Mama, but like I love _you._ "

The silence that follows is comforting, like the sounds of the waterfall, and I remember a word from Caleb's dictionary: _serene._ His arms around me are warm despite the returning winter chill, and both of us can feel the shift around us, like everything has just changed, and yet feels the same: cozy, comfortable, close… _the same,_ but with the knowledge of a shared love, almost too good to be true.

This is the first time of soon-to-be many that I destroy something too good to be true: the silence. It's just like me to ease into complete and utter destruction.

"We should go home," I say, standing up and brushing dust from my knees. My robe is soiled from the soot on the ground, but I can't bring myself to care. I will wash it with Tobias' slacks later. "It's way past sunset, and I don't want to make Mama worry."

He gestures to a bag, still filled to the brim with food. "We forgot to distribute."

"Right," I groan, pulling him up. "Do you think they'll be asleep yet?"

He shakes his head. "When I was part-time factionless, I wasn't asleep until midnight. We have a solid hour or two."

"Alright then," I say, pocketing my Dauntless stone. "Let's get started."

It takes us a half hour to work across the sector. Finally, we reach Althea's spot, the girl who wore my coat. She's grown out of it by now, but I managed to find her a new one. Her mother, Anna, smiles at us as we near, but her daughter is nowhere to be found.

"Anna!" I call, excitedly, as we haven't spoken in a while. "Where's Thea?" As she is my age — well, a year younger — Althea and I have grown close over the past few years. The bag slung over Tobias' shoulder has her favourite hidden at the bottom: chicken noodle, cold. I might have felt bad making him hold it if it weren't for his growing muscles.

"She's out on a scavenger hunt," Anna replies, taking one loaf of bread graciously. "Give the rest to someone else, please. We've been doing so well, lately, ever since I got my bus driving job."

Anna drives the school bus every morning, one of the best opportunities for a factionless person. Her parents must have gotten her the job — she was from Abnegation, the daughter of a government official, and had just finished initiation when it was found out that she was pregnant with Althea out of wedlock. Although abstinence is a tacit law, taught by families instead of schools, Marcus had her thrown out, days after becoming an independent. What happened of the father, I don't know.

I smile at her, and Tobias goes to give the rest of the bread to a man a few feet down. I see him pause for a second, as if in conversation, and I immediately know that he is asking about Thomas. So far, no one has seen him, spoken to him, or even heard of him. It's like he doesn't exist. Dejectedly, Tobias returns, just as an energetic bundle of warm winter coat charges towards us.

"Tris!" she cries out as she lunges at me, wrapping her arms around my waist. Althea is small for her age — nine, a year younger than me — because of her malnutrition, but Toby and I have tried to get her back on track. Her startling blue eyes shine up at me, the colour of an ocean, and her hair, black like Anna's, is knotted and unkempt.

Anna grabs her off of me and smiles apologetically, but I wave her off, unfazed. This is just Althea's affectionate way of greeting me. "Hey, Thea! What's happening?" Something is _always_ happening.

She holds her fists out, and I see that she is holding something underneath. Then she sees that bag that Toby is holding, and her eyes widen. "Is there…?"

I nod, and she squeals, hugging Tobias as I grab her soup. He stiffens, but only for a moment. He's gotten much better at touch, and I can tell that he holds affection for the little girl. "Here, Angel. For you," he says holding out the can. Anna takes the soup, as Althea's hands are full…

"It's a gift. For Tobias. But," she giggles and opens her palms to reveal… nothing, "it's not in here. Hold on." Althea ruffles through a pile of clothes against the wall, a unique bounce in her step. "Here it is. Take it!"

It's stunning, a circle weaved with taut strings drawn to the center and beaded feathers hanging from the edges. The plumes are grey and white, hints of brown ombré fading from the tips. The thing sways in the ever-present wind like a bird learning to fly, bracing itself to be carried by the gale, clasped from a delicate spiral in Althea's fingers.

"A dreamcatcher," she tells Tobias as he takes it gently from her grasp. "For your nightmares. May they never return." His nightmares have come every night for three years. Every night. If they never returned, we would owe this girl our lives.

Startled, Tobias gasps. "How did you know?"

"I saw you," she whispers, staring at the ground. "Back when that older man took care of you. When you lived here, like I do, but only at night… I saw the red on your shirt, and I figured you'd been through so much. So, I made you this for the nightmares that you _must_ have."

"You saw Thomas?" I ask, as I was beginning to think he was a ghost. "Have you seen him since?"

She nods, the first in a long line. "I saw him just now, camped out by the forest. He was on the floor, but he was awake, and he was watching two people… I couldn't see their faces, but they looked about your age."

"Althea!" Anna scolds. "What were you doing in the forest?"

"Looking for some feather-plumes, Mama!"

I tuned out the rest of their exchange, lost in my own thoughts. Thomas was in the forest? Was he… watching us? But why… Tobias catches my eye — he's been silent for a while. I look up at him, and his eyes are shining with tears.

"Toby?" I whisper. Althea, confused, watches as Tobias kneels in front of her and takes her hand.

"Thank you, Angel," he says, holding up the dreamcatcher. "For the gift." She smiles, and I realize that it's the first time he's touched someone willingly. My heart swells with a wave of affection for the girl as Toby stands up, bidding them farewell. She seems so small, so young, despite being only a year younger than me.

"Visit more," Anna says, waving us off, her chocolate brown eyes shimmering with appreciation. "Maybe one of these days, I'll make _you_ dinner."

"One day," I echo with a grin, following Tobias down the cemented road. We walk in step, in perfect sync, our joined hands swinging between us to the beat of our hearts. Thomas is forgotten, and with the dreamcatcher dangling from Tobias' slender fingers, maybe the nightmares of the past can be forgotten as well.

What I don't realize, however, is that nightmares are a figment of the mind, and the mind does not forget what it creates, what it is proud of, and continues to haunt us in that inescapable manner that not even strings and beads and feathers can take away.

We walk, arms swinging, innocent smiles plastered to our faces.

* * *

"Mama?" I call out, closing the door gently behind me. Tobias walks ahead, twiddling with the soft plumes between his fingers. As the door clicks, I notice that Mama's shoes are not neatly placed on the rack, but rather strewn carelessly about, and the welcome mat is tucked in at the sides in a way that drives her crazy.

The hallway is eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that makes a symphony of everyday sounds; the chime of the curtains as they clink against windows become the bells, the whistle of the wind is the melody, and the battering of my heart against my ribs becomes the bass. We trudge on through familiar halls, Tobias's hand snaking into mine, and there is a pulsing in his palm that is unintentionally unnerving.

"Mama?" he shouts, voice bouncing off the walls like in the cavern. When we pass the kitchen, I catch a glimpse of metal, tugging Tobias to a stop: a knife, freshly sharpened, edges gleaming maliciously like a killer's smile. I sigh in relief when I see a cutting board beside it, loaded with freshly diced onions, and run a hand through my hair. In seconds, I tie it up with the elastic around my wrist, immediately missing the slight pressure of the tresses against the small of my back; it is replaced by Tobias' hand, warm, comforting.

"What's going on?" I cry as he leads me through the house, holding me behind him like a shield. I know he would rather me stay somewhere safer, but he would not leave me, not now. "Where is Mama?"

"I don't know, Bea, but keep your voice down," he scolds in a hushed whisper, the edge of his voice sharp as the knife on the kitchen counter. A creak sounds from the floorboards beneath the fraying carpeting, and he presses me into the wall, covering my body with his back. Long, silver scars peek from his shirt collar, making me shiver with fright as I remember just how unsafe a person can be in their own home.

Another creek echoes, and a figure darts across the room. Tobias' tenses, and a cry falls from my lips as I slip out from behind him, a sort-of war cry; if there is danger coming, I will not stand idle and let him die for me. That is not who I am.

The figure is Mama, I realize as she pulls us into her arms. "Thank God, you are both okay." Her sobs fill the air, raking through her body, and her arms shake around us.

"Mama," Tobias soothes, rubbing her shoulder gently. "What happened?" Her sobs grow louder, strangled, and an unintelligible word, like a rush of air, is pushed through her lips.

"Le… Le…"

I grasp her arms, making her look me in the eyes, which I am sure are shining with worry. Hysteria pours off her like sweat, and her eyes are bloodshot, red as the fiery sun draping over the mountains. "What? Mama…"

"Ca.. Cale—"

My heart stops in that moment… or maybe it is beating so fast that I can't even feel it anymore. The pain in my ribs is excruciating, so unimaginable that I don't even realize that it's in my head. It's real pain, physical pain, like I've been stabbed, and one word repeats itself in my mind:

 _Caleb, Caleb, Caleb, Caleb, Caleb…._

When I take off running, I notice how black spots cover my vision, how the ground sways beneath my feet, how my lungs have shrivelled up into raisons like a smoker's, but I keep going, each slap of my bare feet against the floor louder than the last, longer than the last, slower than the last. A dark liquid seeps from the carpet as I reach the top of the stairs, staining my feet with red, squishing between my toes, and as my hands break through the door and its wood splinters my palms, I fall to my knees. A sight befalls me, one that will forever be etched under my eyelids, one that will haunt me whenever I close my eyes.

My brother lays on the ground of his own bedroom, jaw unhinged, tongue hanging limp over the side of his mouth like a dead cow, and he is drenched in blood, a deep crimson like cherry tomatoes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

 _"_ _And then they lived happily ever after," the boy read, closing the book. It was the plastic kind with thick pages, full of vibrant colours and inked words that swirled at the ends in a way that oozed merriment. When he looked down at his baby sister, stroking her golden locks lovingly, he realized that she'd already fallen asleep; this worried him terribly. What if she fell asleep before the happy ending? What if she thought the story ended when the beast's dagger sunk into the hero's shoulder? He shook her awake._

 _The princess' bluish eyes parted one by one, slitted with fatigue. "Caleb?" Her older brother stared down at her, frowning, and turned the book so she could see the pages._

 _"_ _See? It's a happy ending," he explained, pointing at the image. It was of a girl in a pink dress with puffed sleeves and sequins and gold… Beatrice thought it was mean of him to show her, when all she had were grey robes and grey slacks. Heck, even her eyes were swirled with grey._

 _"_ _They look happy," Beatrice huffed, filling with jealousy. She crossed her chubby arms over her chest and pouted, wet tears falling over her cheeks. "They clearly aren't Abnegation."_

 _"_ _Beatrice!" Caleb gasped, horrified at her statement. "Jealousy is the worst kind of selfishness!"_

 _"_ _Only if I act on it," she responded, wiping her cheeks. "I won't do that."_

 _"_ _To be truly Abnegation," her brother quoted, fingers moving in the air as if there were some kind of invisible, floating scroll. "One must be through and through, inside and out, mind and body selfless." Beatrice wondered for a moment how her brother could remember such complex things. That part of his mind seemed to be endless, a bottomless pit of facts and numbers and words that she could only dream of comprehending._

 _"_ _Is it not selfish to read me books?" she quipped, reaching for the hardback. Caleb jerked away, holding it protectively to his chest._

 _"_ _You cannot tell Mama or Papa," Caleb demanded, tears welling up in his eyes. A deep sadness was displayed on his face, and Beatrice felt guilty. "They'll take them away! They can't take them away…"_

 _She nodded. "I won't tell. Promise. I like it when you read to me."_

 _As she said those words, Caleb tucked her back into bed with the scarce sheets that they had to keep them warm in winter. She nestled back into her stiff bed and laid her head onto stiff pillows. He asked: "Can I finish the story?"_

 _"_ _Please," she requested, smiling softly at her brother. "I want to hear how they got to the happy ending."_

 _"_ _And you won't be jealous?"_

 _"_ _No," she lied. Selfish, selfish girl…_

 _"_ _Okay then," he agreed, opening the book up again. "Where were we when you fell asleep?"_

 _She frowned. "The beast sank the dagger into the hero's shoulder."_

 _Caleb knew he'd made the right decision waking her up; otherwise, she would have been fraught with nightmares. Still, a shiver ran down his spine at the thought of reading that part again, yet he did. For her. "Okay, so the fairies turned the beast's dagger to plastic, and the hero, brandishing his sword, killed the beast."_

 _"_ _But what if the beast wasn't so bad, like in the other story?"_

 _Caleb paused; he'd never thought of it that way. But he knew that this would weigh on his sister's conscience, so he told a little lie, a selfless lie. "That was different, because the other beast was a prince in disguise. This one is just a beast."_

 _"_ _No one is just a beast," she muttered as sleep tugged at her lavender eyelids. "Someone has to turn them into one."_

 _"_ _But…" Caleb's words fell on deaf ears then, as the princess had fallen asleep in her stony bed of bricks and bones, and there was no way he would wake her up again, not for a thousand cherry tomatoes._

 _He trudged, resigned, back to his chamber, contemplating the story of the beast, the one that no one ever told. Still, in his heart, he could find no excuse, no reasonable explanation, for the horrors that he… that he hero had faced. Then, he raced back to his sister's bedroom, desperate to convince her of the beast's fault, and called out to her, "Beatrice, Beatrice, Beatrice…"_

* * *

 _"_ _Beatrice, don't you cry, my baby. They have taken your brother away for his own good," her mama told her in a soothing voice. But Beatrice was not crying — no, she was only confused._

 _"_ _What do you mean, Mama? Caleb is right here," she cried out, hugging her brother's sleeping frame tighter. The boy's chest rose and fell as the sun and moon every twenty-four hours. Life pulsed through him._

 _Her mother smiled weakly, as if only just noticing the boy. "Yes, he is. Caleb is here, isn't he?" But as she looked at the boy, he crumbled to dust in Beatrice's arms, like ashes. She had expected the ashes to be grey… but they weren't. They were a dull blue._

 _"_ _Mama?" Fear crept up the girl's back now and grasped at her shoulder where the devil sat._

 _Mother's face fell. "Oh, my. That's quite a creature you've got there." But her outstretched hand was going the wrong way — it was reaching out for the angel on her other shoulder, wings curled in, making music for her ear. It was a mockingbird, that angel. The girl's mother grabbed the angel by it's feathery wings, which spread as if held by strings, a marionette._

 _Her fingers turned red, the mother's, staining the angel's white wings… and when Beatrice looked up, her mother had the head of a beast, a beast with eyes the colour of the ten o'clock sky and hair as grey as Abnegation robes. Beatrice had never seen such a beast before, but the heaviness that fell upon her as she looked at it was like an anchor, dragging her deep down into the depths of the ocean. And she didn't know the beast's name, because no one had told her, yet still it rang in her ears, clear as her papa's glasses. Marcus Eaton, it sounded._

 _The angel looked at her with saddened eyes, blue as the beast's yet purer, as an angel should be, and with a speckle of cyan in the center. Marcus dragged the angel away from Beatrice, and the further he went, the weaker she felt. As they disappeared out of sight, she cried out for the angel and fell into darkness. "Tobias!"_

* * *

 _Her brother's palm collided with her cheek, leaving a fat, red mark. Gasping, she gripped the side of her face that throbbed with pain, clenching her eyes shut. When they opened, she saw him, blood seeping onto the school's marble floor, and a cool metal knife was secure in her hand. It fell from her fingers. Clank._

 _Caleb's dead lips moved as if he were a ghost. "Go home, Beatrice… but don't tell our parents why I sent you back." She went to run, but her feet were glued to the floor. "I said GO." Trembling, she tried again. Nothing. His eyes shot open, and they were a phantom red — every inch. Blood spewed from them, and suddenly he was coughing it up as well. Beatrice tugged at her feet, but they were stuck… she cried out._

 _A figure rounded from the corner: a two-headed beast. One had Andrew's face, with dark, greying hair, a long, wide nose and thin, chipped lips. The other was Marcus, the same as ever. In the beast's arms was a boy. Half of his face was torn and bloodied, and Marcus' belt was wrapped around his neck, strangling him. Beatrice's heart felt like it was being squeezed in someone's palm; she looked down, and there he was, Caleb, with his hand piercing her ribcage._

 _The boy, Tobias, called out, "Beatrice, Beatrice, Beatrice…"_

* * *

Mama is calling my name. She has fallen, I realize, to the floor. Her arms envelop me, but I don't feel their warmth; all I feel is the stinging in my eyes. They are open, wide like china plates, and the moisture has been sucked out of them by the thirsty air. When I blink, the visions come back, and a sort of stickiness where my eyelids close. I pry them open to escape the prison of my own mind, and just look.

Caleb just lays there. I wait for him to move, to speak, for Uriah to pop out of nowhere and tell me that this was all just a cruel, cruel prank, but nothing…

His lips are parted slightly. Blood cakes his face, gathering around his nose and dripping onto pristine, white teeth. Most of it is dried up, crusty like an old loaf of bread, which makes it darker, almost black, as it stains his skin, clothes, and the grey carpet underneath. Horror, pure, unadulterated, fills every crevasse of my body as I stare into his eyes; they look up at his brain, loosing pigment, and have faded into an eggshell colour. They are _empty._

No words can describe how I feel in this moment. The closest I can get is _shattered._

Darkness takes me, but not in the same way it took Caleb. In the moments before, when I realize that, the feeling in my chest is disappointment.

* * *

 _Grief (noun): deep sorrow, especially caused by someone's death._ I laughed when I read that in Caleb's dictionary. Now, I am facing the wall of my bedroom, as I have been for hours, and I am about to say my first word since my brother's untimely murder.

 _"_ _No,"_ I whisper, my nose pressed against the wall. From here, I can see every crack in the plaster, every fault in the paint — the closer you get to anything, the easier it is to see the imperfections. I will never let anyone get that close again… Tobias sighs, and I realize that I have already failed.

"Please, Bea." He strokes my hair, and I push him back, not looking at his face that surely holds a look of hurt. "You have to go, for Mama."

My throat tightens, and my voice is small. "That's not fair, Tobias."

"I know," he sighs again, "but we have to go. I don't want to, either."

Irrational as a drunk's decisions, anger swells inside my chest. "He isn't… _wasn't_ your brother!" That is death… switching from is to was.

The silence speaks volumes; I don't have to look at him to understand how hurt he was by that. "Bea," he breathes, voice cracking like shards of glass under heavy boots.

"I'm sorry." Tears slip onto my cheeks, but I don't try to wipe them away. "I'm sorry, Toby. I know he was just as much your brother as he was mine." His arm wraps around me, and I can _feel_ it. Warmth passes between us despite the cold outside, radiating from us like we are the sun. For days, I have been numb; with Tobias, I feel.

In this case, that isn't a good thing.

Violent sobs rack through my body, shaking me like strong arms with harmful intent. He pulls me into his chest, and although he is trying to hold them, his sobs only mix with mine, an imbalanced, out of sync lament between the two of us. "Who did this?" I cry, words drowning underneath blubbering howls. "Who did this to our brother?"

"I don't know," he whispers. He is the opposite of me: a silent crier, but one who shakes with repressed sobs like a mad man. "I wish I could tell you, Bea, but I can't."

"Tris," I breathe, an awful pain rising again to my chest. He stares at me, confused. "I need to feel brave right now. Call me Tris, please."

Tobias smiles weakly, nodding. "Okay, Tris, my brave, brave girl." As if in slow-motion, he leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead. My eyes flutter shut on their own accords, and again I am haunted by visions. They fly open.

I dart out of Toby's arms and run to the corner of the room, heaving into a trash can. The bitter taste of bile stings my mouth, coats my tongue, and tears stream down my cheeks. I breathe heavily, hot air coming in and out, and struggle to keep my hair out of my face; Tobias holds my hair, rubbing my back gently.

"Ugh," I groan, hands resting on my knees. Trying hard not to swallow the vile taste, I pant clumsily, throat burning.

Tobias, worried, starts braiding my hair. When he is finished, he secures it with an elastic and helps me to my feet. "Go clean up," he advises, pressing a hand to my forehead. "I'll get you some water." He hesitates. "And, Tris, please get dressed for the… funeral." I nod, tired of fighting him, and he leaves my room.

I trudge to the bathroom and wash out my mouth, grabbing my toothbrush. Bubbles foam, and the taste of peppermint mixes with vomit — not the best combination. Quickly pulling on a grey dress, I wash my face and exchange Tobias' perfect braid for a nasty bun. I walk out to see him enter again, holding a tall glass of water, dressed in a crisp grey shirt and straight pants.

"Thank you," I whisper hoarsely as he gives it to me. Hands in his pockets, he nods and looks away as I drink before handing him the empty glass. He places it on the bedside table.

I notice that in my haste to rehydrate, I spilled some water on my dress. The wet spot is dark, black almost — the kind of colour that should be worn at a funeral. Still, in Abnegation, we wear grey.

"You should change," he tells me, eyeing the spot. I shake my head.

"It'll dry," I answer dismissively. "Besides, everyone expects us to look like crap anyways."

"Bea!" He gasps, shocked at my foul language. I wave him off.

"Tris, remember?"

He takes my hands, and I can't bring myself to tear them away. "What's gotten into you?"

"My brother is dead," I sneer, welling up. His lips part, and his chest rises quickly. A sheen coats his eyes, wet and shiny, and guilt flows through me like the waterfall. My lip finds its way between my teeth.

"Be- I mean, Tris…"

"No," I interrupt, grabbing my bag. "Let's just go."

His nose twitches. "Okay."

We make our way to the stairs, passing by the bedroom across the hall; right beside where Tobias sleeps — we got him his own bed a few weeks after he arrived, but the two boys shared a room for three years — Caleb's bed is pristine, untouched, and empty. I remember how it used to look: blankets tangled up where he would turn in his sleep, pillow tossed carelessly astray, sheets untucked and riding up, sometimes halfway up the bed. I would groan whenever I had to make his bed, but now I would do anything to do it again.

"You get your own room now," I mutter. Tobias frowns and pulls the door shut harshly, not meeting my eyes. Hurt flashes across what I can see of his face. Dragging me down the stairs, he cries silently. I know I am being unfair to him…

There are at least twenty people in our living room, cramped together in the small space. The rest are in the tiny backyard where we do our Dauntless training — Mama had to hide the targets, the knives, and the gun. Tobias stops me, hidden by a wall.

Worry shines in his eyes. "What if they recognize me?"

Oh… I hadn't thought about that, not with everything going on. "You should go back upstairs."

"What?" he cries, gripping my shoulders. "I can't go upstairs! Mama needs the both of us here."

I sigh. "Your safety is more important, Tobias."

"I just can't, Tris. I _need_ to be here." He really is the most selfless person I know.

"Okay," I whisper, looking him up and down. It's been three years, so he certainly looks different, and hardly anyone saw him before, when he was… with Marcus. A hat on the coat hanger catches my eye — it's Caleb's. Swallowing loudly, I grab it and put it on his head. "That… that should cover it. I don't think anyone will recognize you."

"Bea," he breathes, shocked.

"But," I continue, ignoring him. If I don't, I will only cry again. "If anyone says anything strange to you, _go back upstairs._ Do you hear me, Tobias?"

He nods, taking my hand. "Thank you."

We walk, hand in hand, into the kitchen. A knife lays on the counter, and images flash before my eyes. Tobias squeezes my hand, jamming the knife back into the holder. "It's okay," he whispers, and I nod. We both know it's not.

"Beatrice," someone calls from behind us. I turn around; it's only Mama, her eyes bloodshot, deep purple bags hanging under them. She pulls us into her arms, and whispers: "What is Tobias doing down here?"

"He insisted," I whisper, taking in her warmth and the softness of her skin, even under scratchy Abnegation robes. "Don't bother trying to convince him."

She smiles weakly at us, but there is no happiness behind it. We are all equally empty inside. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Natalie!" It is Mrs. Black who called out, Susan and Robert's mother. She is a pleasant woman, short with a wide stature and warm brown hair. Making her way over to us, she places on the counter a dish covered in shiny tinfoil before taking Mama's hands. Her tone is genuine, sympathetic… aggravating. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

I shift, but Tobias holds me back, shaking his head. _I know you want to snap at her,_ his eyes warn, _but it's not her fault._ Ashamed of my behaviour, I avert my gaze from the scene, from Tobias, and it lands on a figure, dimly lit, in the doorway. My eyes widen, heartbeat racing, and panic fuses with the blood in my veins as I tug harshly at Toby's sleeve.

He follows me, and a pained gasp escapes his throat. Standing in the doorway, looking innocent as a hardened criminal, stands a familiar man, grey hair matching his shirt, pants, shoes, and soul, a man whom I had wished to never set my eyes on again, the father of the terrified boy clinging to my arm: Marcus Eaton. And behind him… my own father.

Here it is, the two-headed beast.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Funerals are a quiet affair in Abnegation, solemn, and you can almost taste the saltiness of tears in the air. But, like crows so clustered that they resemble a black cloud overhead, I can sense a storm brewing in this house.

"Go upstairs," I whisper urgently, shaking Tobias' shoulders. He is frozen in his spot, unmoving, still as a statue. Louder, I say it again, desperate this time as the beast is nearing us, drawing closer, stalking towards us like a predator to his prey.

Hurrying through something about going to check on me, Mama breaks away from Mrs. Black. The woman nods politely and scuttles out the door, leaving us alone in the living room. A heavy slam echoes through the house as the back door closes behind her.

"Go upstairs," Mama barks at Tobias, but he still will not move. Filled with terror, his sapphire eyes are glazed over, like his mind is somewhere else, and his feet stay planted on the ground. Mama and I exchange a glance and simultaneously stand in front of him, hiding him from view.

Coming to a stop in front of us with Andrew hot on his heels, Marcus gives us a subtle smirk, holding a glass pan with food. "For the family of the suffered," he says, voice low and patronizing. Skin clinging to his bones, Marcus has grown thin, and his hair falls low, covering his eyes. He brushes it out of his face, smirking. "May your son be happy… _in hell_."

Mama's nostrils flare as she snatches the pan from his hands, but she doesn't respond. She is cool, collected, but underneath her skin are veins flowing with white-hot rage. I know this because I am the same, skin boiling with anger — only, I am not so controlled as she.

"You _jackass_!" I scream, throwing myself in his direction. Mama catches me around the waist, holding me back as I thrash in her arms. My fists are balled up in punching position like Mama taught me, thumb outside so as not to break it, and I am just about ready to bash Marcus' in, wishing I had become strong enough to break out of Mama's grasp in my training. I'm so close…

Mama hisses in my ear, "Careful, Beatrice."

"My, she's swearing like a hooligan," Andrew spits from the shelter behind Marcus' frame. "You've taught her your old ways, I see."

"I've done nothing of the sort," Mama retaliates angrily. Toby, clenching the back of my shirt between his fingers, breathes heavily against my neck. "You've provoked her."

"She's not a caged animal," Marcus answers for my father. "In _my_ faction, we don't use such words, provoked or otherwise."

Mama leers at him. "I've never heard such a selfish claim. Abnegation is neither yours, nor anyone else's alone. Instead, it belongs to us all. It _is_ all of us."

"Watch it," Marcus snaps, nose screwing up, cheekbones rising an inch up his face. "You may have been Dauntless, Natalie Prior, but I still have more _experience_ with my fists." I stop, feeling everything inside of me stop as well. Then it starts back up, blood infused with rage, heart beating with rage, lungs filling with rage. How _dare_ he…

A soft whimper escapes Toby's lips, but it's enough. Marcus' head snaps to him cowering behind me, and a gigantic grin breaks across his face. Noticing this, Mama lunges at him, but Marcus sidesteps her, dropping the glass pan in his hands and letting it shatter onto the wooden floor. He grabs Tobias' face in his rough hands, bunching up the skin on Toby's cheeks in a way that looks excruciatingly painful.

"So this is where you've been," he grins, towering over the boy like the Hub over the city. "I think it's time you come home, son."

"Like hell he will," I hiss, yanking Tobias out of his grasp. _Stop_ , his eyes scream, filled with terror, _you'll get hurt._ Yet in that moment, I couldn't care less what would happen to me as long as this beautiful, blue-eyed child was safe in my mother's arms, far from this beast.

"Insolent girl!" Marcus roars, balling up his fists. "I'll have you factionless by morning!"

"Like you did to Anna?" I jeer, testing his patience. His face contorts with fury, with secrets tucked in every line, every crevasse, and I sense a story, untold.

His voice is quieter now, a scary kind of anger. "Careful, _Beatrice_ ," he growls. Then he turns to Tobias, walking towards him with arms outstretched. "You're coming with me, _son_."

"Not a chance," Mama interrupts, aiming a swift kick at his stomach. Keeling, he pants heavily, holding his torso up by placing his hands on his knees. After a moment, she smashes his jaw and then his nose, a sickening crack echoing through the house along with the click of her old bones, full of power.

Hovering over his broken body on the floor, she snaps, "This was the last chance, Marcus. You don't want to see what comes next."

Scrambling up with the grace of a pigeon, Marcus storms out of the room, blood spurting from his nose, muttering worse profanities than for which he scolded me. Red liquid spills onto the floor, and I am suddenly glad that we removed the carpet. "I'll be back for my son," he mutters. Who will he come for? He has no son here.

Andrew glares at Mama, but there is sympathy in his eyes. "You've done it now, Natalie," he mutters, stepping on a shard of glass with his hard-heeled shoes. It cracks under the pressure into a hundred pieces. "You've condemned yourself."

"I'm not scared of him," she counters. "I will always be stronger than Marcus Eaton."

"Maybe," he admits, still with eyes of pity. "But he will always be one step ahead of you, Nat." He watches us for a moment before spinning on his heels and following Marcus out like a lost puppy. It is then that I realize, in three years, Andrew never told Marcus about Toby. I shake my head, trying bring the lines of good and evil back into focus. I start to think they will never be clear.

Walking over to the supply closet, I grab a mop and a broom, eyeing the blood and shattered glass on the floor, when Mama takes the tools from my hands. "Go to Tobias," she says, smiling softly. "He needs you. I will take care of this mess and tell everyone outside to go home." Suddenly, I remember that there are at least fifty people gathered in our humble backyard.

My eyes widen. "Do you think…?"

She shakes her head. "No, nobody heard that. I'm sure of it. Now go and calm down Tobias." I nod, handing her the dustpan, and head over to Tobias, dragging him gently by his arm. He's had enough pulling for today, with me and Marcus tugging at him like a rope in tug-of-war, a distinctly Dauntless game that Zeke and Uriah showed us one day for training. It tested our strength, our brawn… of course, Tobias and I teamed up and ended up on our backs, covered in dust, with Zeke and Uriah laughing at us. Then, Mama took them on and beat them, single-handedly. Unsurprising.

I lead him up the stairs, and we burst into my room. Holding back tears, he drops onto the floor, curling into a ball. I walk over to him and plop down beside him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and holding him closer.

"Hey," I whisper soothingly, rubbing his arm. "He's gone now. He's gone."

"I'm so sorry, Bea," he cries, sobbing into my shoulder. I stroke his hair gently, feeling the soft curls wrap around my fingers.

I shake my head. "Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything."

"I'm so weak, so cowardly," he answers, voice broken and quiet. "I couldn't protect you or Mama, stand up to _him_ … I don't deserve to be Dauntless."

"Yes you do," I murmur softly into his ear. "If anyone deserves it, it's you. You are the bravest person I've ever met, okay? Never doubt that."

"It's your brother's funeral, and _I'm_ crying. You're comforting _me._ "

"Ok, first of all, he was your brother, too. Secondly, you saw Marcus. That gives you an excuse to break down. Third, we comfort each other. That's what we do."

He is silent for a moment before whispering, "Why?"

I frown, confused. "Why, what?"

"Why do you love me?" My lips part in shock, and I stare at him.

"Tobias," I say. "Why would you ask me something like that?"

"Because it doesn't make sense," he replies, staring up at me with shining, sapphire eyes. "I'm not lovable. Not capable of being loved. _He_ doesn't love me even though I'm his son, and my mother didn't love me when she was alive. I'm broken, scarred, damaged."

I am silent for a moment. "Did Marcus say those things to you?" He nods. Shaking my head, I ramble quickly, muddling the words together, "I will kill him… for hurting you, for making you think those things about yourself when they are so, so wrong — in fact, they're the opposite. Everyone loves you because you're so damn lovable that it hurts…"

He stops me by laughing softly, tears still streaming down his cheeks. "When did you start swearing so much?"

I shrug. "Sorry. I'll stop."

"Don't," he interrupts, pulling my hair from the elastic so it falls to my waist like a golden waterfall. He runs his fingers through it. "It makes you sound tough. Dauntless."

"Good," I mutter, crossing my arms. "Because I'm not a frickin' sunflower…"

"We'll leave that to the Amity," he finishes, laughing again. The sound makes me smile, because it's really the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.

"You know," I begin, taking his hand. "I never answered your question."

"Oh, I do know. You went off on a rant about why you wanted to kill Marcus instead." I smack his arm.

"Hey!" I whine loudly as he feigns hurt. "I was trying to be nice."

"Yup, so nice. Like a tiny, vicious puppy…"

I hit him one more time. He leans over and kisses my cheek, his wet tears brushing against my skin, to which I respond by pouting. "Shut up," I mutter as he laughs again, throwing his head back. "Just let me talk."

Tobias grows silent, nodding.

He wants to know why I love him… so I will tell him. "Okay, let me think. You've been through so much and still you are the strongest and bravest person I've ever met. You haven't gone to school since you were five but you learn things so quickly that you've already caught up. Your eyes are the most beautiful shade of blue." I blush, and his cheeks match mine. Suddenly, a seriousness settles over the room, and I look up into his beautiful eyes welling up with tears. "I feel braver when I'm around you. You are courageous, selfless, kind, smart, honest… you are everything good in this world. That's why I love you, Toby."

Tobias stares at my face for a moment, first at my eyes, then my nose, then my cheeks, then back at my eyes… and he smiles. He shakes his head at me. "You're incredible, you know that?"

"I do," I answer, giggling. He takes my hand, playing with my fingers, and I scoot closer, leaning my head against his chest. Basking in the silence, I rest and breathe deeply. He smells like oak moss and orange blossom, earthy and floral with a hint of citrus, a scent that envelops me like his arms and takes me to a safe place, a place where my mother is not mopping up blood downstairs. Tobias traces wide circles on the back of my hand with his thumb.

Somehow, despite the loudness of the world around us, we fall asleep in our own silence, the silence that we created for ourselves and for each other.

* * *

The knife flies from my fingers and sticks in the man's stomach. I scream and pull at my hair, spinning on my heels.

"You missed!" Mama shouts, jabbing her finger in the direction of the non-fatal wound. Trudging over to me, she grabs a knife. Lining up her body with the target, she throws it in a perfect curve, and the tip sinks into the heart. She turns to me. "You need to be confident, Tris. Use your whole body, not just your hands. Transfer the energy, the power, and imagine the knife hitting the center."

"I'm trying," I wail as she touches my shoulder, flinching away from her grasp. Frustration beats down on me like the six o'clock sun, morning, as I jog over to the target and tear the knife from the wood again. I've already done this a hundred times, and sweat sticks my black clothes to my skin. Tobias, sinking the knife into the center again, smiles at me sympathetically.

Mama's eyes twinkle, and she suddenly looks tired. "I'm going inside to rehydrate. Tobias, help Tris with her stance, will you?" He nods and makes his way over to me as Mama heads inside the house. I groan and drop the knife, burying my face in my hands.

He rubs my back soothingly. "It's okay, Bea. You're so close to the center."

"But that shot wasn't fatal," I retort, bending down to pick up the knife. The long grass wets my hand with dew, and the metal of the weapon is cold against my skin. This early, every feeling is heightened. "And now _you_ are helping me."

"Hey," he gasps, mock-offended. "What's so bad about me?"

"You know that's not what I meant," I say, wiping the watery knife with a cotton cloth. "It's just embarrassing."

"Everyone needs help, Bea-Tris. Remember how embarrassed I was when Zeke showed me the stance?" I giggle, remembering Tobias' beet red face and Zeke's shameless one as he wrapped his arms around him.

"But it helped, didn't it?" I add, finding my grip on the handle. It feels heavy in my hands. "You got it right in the center that time, and every other."

"Yeah, I guess it did."

Taking my stance, I breathe in deeply, trying to feel that surge of power that Mama described. Nothing. My body feels empty, weak, like the knife has the power and not me. Without even trying, I can tell that it won't sink.

"I don't feel it," I whisper, lowering the knife. Tears gather in my eyes, and I wonder — when I stop crying at frustration, will that be the moment I become Dauntless? In this moment, it feels like that will never happen.

Hesitantly, Tobias steps closer to me. "What if…" he starts. "What if I help you?" It takes a moment for me to realize what he is suggesting, and a warm blush spreads across my cheeks.

"Okay," I answer, taking my stance again. Anticipation rises from my skin like goosebumps as I wait. He wraps his arms around me, adjusting my position, my grip, and despite the numerous occasions that he's been this close to me, my heart still hammers in my chest.

"Lean back," he whispers in my ear, leading me. "Then throw yourself forward with the knife, and feel the energy, the momentum, the power. You control the knife, Tris. It doesn't control you." He steps back, but I barely notice; it still feels like he's there. His warmth lingers in the air, and his words ring in my ears. I feel the rush of power to my fingertips, and I surge, letting the knife fly.

It hits the inner circle and sticks. Sure, it's not dead-center, but it's close enough. Splinters form where the knife protrudes from the wood, and the handle wobbles for a second before settling. I stare at the man-shaped target, frozen in my spot, when I realize what I've done. It's a good shot, great even.

A fatal wound.

I turn around and throw my arms around Tobias, and he lifts me off the ground, laughing. "I did it!" I yell, kicking my feet in the air. His laughs are loud in my ears, beautiful, hearty laughs, and his scent surrounds me again, comforting like the smell of the fireplace back when Mama, Caleb, Papa and I would sit in the living room, back when Papa wasn't a monster and Caleb wasn't gone… but those days are over, and now Tobias and Mama are my only comforts.

"You did," he says, hugging me close as he sets me back on my tiptoes. "I told you you could."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mama watching us from the window, a glass of water in her hand and a huge smile on her face. Suddenly, the curtain falls, blocking her from my view, and I squeeze Tobias tighter. "I did it," I breathe, planting my feet fully on the ground. His arms withdraw.

The door opens, and Mama steps out, looking innocent as a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. She makes her way to us, eyeing the target. "Good job, Beatrice," she congratulates, patting my back. "Now, I think it's time we move on."

"To what?" Tobias says, pulling the knives from his target: five, dead-center. "Are we learning more combat techniques?"

"Or maybe some shooting?" I ask hopefully, batting my eyelashes. Mama shakes her head, giving me a look.

"I told you, Tris, no shooting until you're thirteen. And Tobias, I think you've done enough physical combat. You just might be able to take _me._ "

"So what is it?" I pry, helping Tobias take down the targets. We usually hide them in the shed so no one sees them, since we do our training in our backyard.

Mama grins as she tucks the knives away. "It's time to move onto Stage Two."

"Stage Two?" Tobias kicks down another target. "What's that?"

"You remember how I told you that Dauntless initiation in comprised of three stages?" We nod our heads, curious. "Well, the first stage is knives, guns, and combat. It's all physical, the kind of thing you've been training to do for three years. But the second stage is mental, and you can't prepare for it. Not the same way."

I frown. "So why are you telling us, then?"

"Because," Mama continues, "I'm afraid for the two of you."

"Why are you afraid?"

She hesitates. "There's something that I need to tell the both of you. But you must promise that these words will never leave the three of us, that you will not utter a word of this to any of your friends, now or ever."

"Of course," Tobias promises. "I solemnly swear."

"Me too," I add. "Cross my heart."

Mama leans in real close, and we do, too. Tobias' ear brushes mine, and Mama's eyes look really big from here. She takes our hands, and Tobias takes one of mine, and we are all joined together.

"My darlings," she begins. "There's a good chance that you too might be… different from others. Not in a bad way, but in a way that is dangerous. There's a word for it, but you cannot say it out loud. Ever."

"What kind of different?" I ask, heart battering.

She takes a deep breath. "You could be… divergent."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

 _Divergent (adj.): having an aptitude for two or more factions; deformed._

Unbelievable… I sit, legs folded under me, on my bed. Caleb's dictionary is in my lap, opened to somewhere in the section labelled 'D'. I thought it was a long shot, looking up that word, but it seems everything is in this book. But a word of such weight, squished between _diverge_ (a word so similar that means something entirely different) and _diverse_ (a word that has a similar meaning but would be sent flying if measured on a scale), seems oddly sardonic.

 _Deformity_ … that's what it is called. Mama says that anything that does not conform will be called deformed… she is divergent. I might be, too, but I won't know until my Aptitude Test. But one final question lingers in my mind, a question that I couldn't ask Mama. Not because she wouldn't answer, but because she couldn't; the question wasn't for her.

The door creeks loudly. I don't look up from the page, even when he comes to sit beside me. My bed squeaks. "Tobias," I whisper as he leans over my shoulder, eyes skimming the page until they stop at the word above where my fingernail rests.

"Tris."

I crawl behind him and rest my knees on either side of his torso, wrapping my arms around his neck. The questions floats around in my mind, and I have to ask: "Why did Mama tell you? About divergence, I mean. I understand why she told me… because I might be divergent, since it's in my family. But why did she tell you?"

He looks away, focusing on the carpeting under his feet. I can tell from the slant of his iris that his vision is blurry. "I told her something," he murmurs, humming quietly as I rub his scarred back through the cotton fabric of his grey shirt.

"Told her what?"

He sighs. "The first night I stayed here, the night I was set free, I was beside myself. And I know you only left me for a moment, but in that moment, it slipped out. If you'd stayed, you would have heard it, too. I didn't mean for you not to hear it…"

"What was it, Tobias?" I ask, tracing circles at the hem of his shirt.

"My… um… Marcus — Marcus is divergent." I gasp, but he continues. "He told me the night my mother died. He was going on about how she was gone, and how he would use me as his… punching bag," I had a feeling he was editing this for my benefit, "and he threatened me, said that he wanted me to stay in Abnegation forever, and to do that, I needed to get an Abnegation result on my test."

"Did he make you take it early?" I asked, horrified.

"No. He said the serum would be dangerous — not that he cared about anything other than having someone to hurt — and that it might impact the development of my brain negatively. He said he didn't want a _retard_ for a son."

I stop, feeling a sharp pain in my chest. How could anyone say something like that? Something so… cruel…

"Oh, Tobias…" I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer. My stomach is pressed up against his back, arms around his shoulders, and my head rests in the crook of his neck. "He was never your father, Tobias. He never deserved to be."

"He told me how to get an Abnegation result. He told me what happens in the test. I tried to block it out, but he held my wrists and made me look him in the eyes. Then, he made me take off my shirt and repeat what he'd said as he brought his belt down on my back." Anger wells up inside of me, the kind of anger that only a Dauntless could possess, as the images enter my unwilling mind. Marcus took away Tobias' only chance at knowing who he is — the Aptitude Test. Now that he knows what happens, the results will not be honest.

I wish I could take away every bad memory that plagues him.

"Marcus is… Does that mean… that you might be…"

He nods solemnly. "It's just as likely that I will also be divergent."

 _"I told you_ _never_ _to use that word_. _"_ The voice is harsh and scolding, and it comes from the threshold. Mama steps inside. "You never know who is listening, Tobias."

"So what do we call it?" he asks. It's a valid question, but I already know the answer.

"We don't," I say, scooting to sit beside him. Although innocent, our embrace felt like something wrong with my mother here. Abnegation don't touch. I continue, "We never speak of it."

"That's correct, Tris. After today, you will never speak of it." She pauses for a moment. "Tobias, give us a minute?" He nods and exits quietly, not looking back. For a moment, I think it's about what she saw between me and Tobias. I shake the thought out of my head; there was nothing there.

"What is it, Mama?"

"I'm afraid," she whispers, taking Tobias' empty seat. "I'm afraid, because I'm almost certain that you possess a certain _quality._ "

"I thought-"

"This is important, Beatrice." She eyes the dictionary that has been cast aside. "That was your brother's, was it not?"

"Yes."

"So it is." Her eyes drift to the wooden block, full of splinters, that hangs above my bed. Sometimes I use it to practice my knife skills. Then she draws her gaze to my open closet where my withered coat hangs off the metal rack. Then, back to me. "What did you think of your brother, Tris?"

"Caleb? What about him?" I sound composed, but the knot that comes with thinking of him is already forming in my throat, and I am holding back tears. It is an Abnegation thing to do, as I would not want to burden anyone with my sadness. It is a Dauntless thing to do, because it shows bravery in the face of feeling. It is an Erudite thing to do, because it displays logic over emotion. It is what I do, because I can't cry anymore.

"Was he selfless?" she asks. I nod without hesitation, remembering the lady with her bags, the Abnegation clump walking towards school, the children who needed help with their studies like Tobias… yes, the studies were when he was his happiest.

"He was selfless, Mama, but only because he had to be," I explain. "It was like he knew exactly what to do, when to do it, but there was no passion there. It was calculating. He… he had it down to a science, but he was selfless."

"But, Beatrice," she interrupted. "Was he Abnegation?"

"No." Again, zero hesitation. "No, Caleb was Erudite. He wasn't… he didn't posses that _quality_."

She picked up the dictionary, fingering its thick pages; they were stiff from where he'd spilled water on them, and they cracked when Mama flexed them. As if it were on fire, she dropped the book beside her and cleared her throat. "He must have gotten his Erudite from your father."

I don't meet her eyes. "Did I?"

"Did you what?"

"Did I get anything from him?"

Jaw rigid, she nods slightly. "Yes, I think you did, Beatrice. I think you got his intelligence as well."

"What?" I blurt out, rising from my bed. "I am _not_ Erudite!"

"Maybe not," she calms, "but it is possible that you have an aptitude for it."

"I don't, Mama. I'm Dauntless!"

Her gaze once again lands on the wooden block above my bed. She takes a throwing knife from my bedside table and runs the dull end along her palm admiringly, the cool metal against her rosy skin. Suddenly, she draws her arm back and throws, knife sticking perfectly.

"My girl," she says. "You got that from me." A grin spreads across my face, and I stare in awe. She continues, "You're the perfect blend of your father and I. You have his intellect, that curious look that lives on your face, and you have the bravery of a Dauntless."

I sit back down on the bed, and my closet comes into focus. Mama sits beside me. "And that coat," she muses, inspecting the frayed edges and missing buttons and fading colour; she's never seen anything more beautiful. "It symbolizes the Abnegations in you. And, despite having to share your aptitude with Dauntless and possibly Erudite, it's just as strong as if it were on its own. That worries me just as much as the fact that you have a knife under your pillow." She pulls it from the target, and it clanks against my desk.

"Mama," I answer after a moment. Thinking of the reason why that knife lives under my pillow is one of the many things that gives me nightmares. "You know why that knife is there."

"Yes," she replies. Her voice is composed, not shaky like mine, but its melodic sound has fallen flat. "Yes, I remember."

I stare at the door where Tobias had been just moments ago. Every second that he's not in my sight is a second that I am worrying about him. It's another second that he might be in danger. It only takes a second…

"Then, we will just have to hold onto that memory." And it's as good a thing as bad, because once we forget, we are only doomed to repeat it.

At least, that's what it says in my faction history textbook, right beside the part about how before the war, there was no happiness, only suffering, and how violence did, in fact, bring us our peace.

* * *

Tobias and I walk, side by side, along the square tiles that cover the dirt and earth beneath. The sun is low, as if hanging by a thread, like a set piece that had fallen from its place. Watching the dimly-lit, orange sky, we make our way through the streets of Abnegation, passing by the uniform houses that are differentiated only by the practical house number hanging above the doors; but even those numbers, each with the whole responsibility of distinguishing one person from another, are the same perfect cut, the same dreary grey, the same difference.

Adjusting the strap of my food bag, I glance at the side of Tobias' face and the gentle stubble on his chin. He's focused on the ground, his feet stepping in the center of each tile. I smile at his childishness whenever I can, always remembering that he lost much of his childhood. The corner of his lips turn up as he feels my gaze on him, and I turn away, grinning.

Then, losing his balance, he misses the next tile. I grab his shoulders, steadying him. Tobias' arms wrap around my waist, holding both of us up, and he finds my eyes, his blue ones wide with fear.

Hysterical, he cries out: "No! No! I stepped on it, Bea!" He tugs at his hair in panic, feet glued to the floor.

"Hey," I say frantically, rubbing his arm. "Tobias, it's okay."

After a moment, he calms down, and I pull him into a hug. "Sorry," he mumbles into the top of my head, back arched to level with me. I draw circles on his back with my fingers, and then start writing words: _love, comfort, Toby and Tris._

"Why?" I ask simply, breathing in his scent. The unspoken knowledge is between us that I need to know why he's panicking. Mama says he's anxious, but I don't really understand what that means. That's why he tries his hardest to explain it, and then I understand. Always, I am there for him and him for me.

"When I was little, I heard a Candor boy singing a song," he explains, quiet so I can barely hear his words. "I can't remember it exactly… it had something to do with my mother and the cracks in the floor. Of course, I didn't pay him any attention, but… my mother died. My mother is _dead_."

"Tobias," I whisper, coming to a stop. "It's just a superstition. Not your fault. Besides…" I trail off, realizing that the thought was tactless.

"I know," he replies, having read my expression. Guilt creeps up my spine, and I don't look at him. He takes my face into his hands. "Don't feel guilty for thinking it, Bea. Trust me, I thought it too. What's the point in playing the game anymore if she's already gone? And I did stop, for years; I even tried stepping on them on purpose to see if it would work on my father. It didn't."

"Then what made you do it again?"

He smiles. "For the longest time, I didn't have a mother, Tris. But since the night you and Mama found me…" I realize; he is afraid for Mama. He avoids the cracks in the floor for Mama.

"For Mama…" we both trail off into silence as we continue down the path. Soon enough, we reach the factionless sector. All along the brick walls are gangling factionless in jumbled colours of clothing, mostly grey but with pieces of blue and yellow and red and some other colours that don't belong to any specific faction. For hours, we hand them clothing and bread and cans of miscellaneous product. Along the end of our route, where they have made their spot, Anna is wide awake with Althea curled up and sleeping in her lap.

I crouch beside her, careful to not wake Thea up. "Hey, Anna," I whisper, handing her the bag. She smiles gratefully and takes it.

"Thank you. It's been a hard month at work." Althea stirs in her lap, and Anna sighs. "Poor girl has a fever. She's been asleep all day." I glance at the girl; Tobias is crouching by her side, distraught. He places his hand on her forehead, eyebrows furrowed.

"It's bad," he announces, stroking Althea's hair. "She needs medicine."

"I know," Anna whispers, shame seeping through silvery voice.

"Stay here, Beatrice," Tobias says. "I'll run home." I tell him what to get, and he darts off, running with a speed unparalleled. His training has done him good. I turn to Anna and place a hand on her shoulder, watching Althea's beautiful, sleeping face, hollow with sickness.

"Thank you," Anna says. I shake my head.

"Really, we love Thea. We're here for her."

Her eyes gleam. "You and Tobias… what a coincidence that we met the two of you. Like fate."

"What do you mean?"

She hesitates. "Nothing, Beatrice. I'm just glad that you were sent her way."

We sit in silence until Tobias returns, out of breath and clutching a brown paper bag to his heaving chest, and plops down beside us, shoving the bag into my hands. "Here," he breathes, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Inside the bag, there is a bottle of cherry syrup, a thermos of ice water, and some cotton cloths: just what I need.

She looks at me, confused and overwhelmed, and I begin to explain, remembering the first year we had Tobias when he'd gotten a similar fever: "There are instructions on the bottle — you can use the cap to measure the correct amount. Since she's a little underweight for her age, I would give her 10 millimetres every four to six hours. For the water, douse the cloth in it and put in on her forehead, hands, feet… switch it out every once in a while. She'll be fine, Anna. I won't tell you not to worry, because I know she's your daughter, but don't drive yourself crazy, okay?"

She nods, determination eminent on her face. "I'll help her get better. After this, it's all up to us."

I turn to Tobias, wanting to thank him for being so quick to get back; he is with Althea, already with a cloth to her forehead, worry etched across his features. She stirs again, and her eyes part lazily. "Toby," she says happily, but she doesn't move. Her skin is paler than usual, and there are dark patches under her eyes.

"Angel," he whispers, stroking her cheek lovingly. "Get better, okay? For me." She nods, a little smile spread across her lips, and she closes her eyes again. I motion for Tobias to follow me, and we wave goodbye to the two of them before setting off along our route.

Our feet are loud against the concrete as we walk. Trees line the horizon. "We haven't been to the waterfall in a while," I muse as we come closer. "Not since…" _Since the night Caleb was murdered._

"We should," he says. "Go, I mean. Just for a while."

My heart thuds, remembering the last time and the words that were exchanged between us. "You know, we _have_ finished distributing. Plus, we have an hour or two until nightfall."

Together, we walk into the forest, weaving through the trees and making our way along the familiar path. Entering the mouth of the cave, we find our waterfall and sit by the black rocks, knees pulled into our chests. The water is ice blue, almost like a painting, and I can hardly believe that it has no colour, that the vibrant blue doesn't really exist in that form. I dip my hand in the gentle stream, the coolness of the water making me sigh with pleasure.

"I love water," I say, leaning back against the smooth boulder. Tobias shakes his head, disagreeing.

"Water is nothing. It is tasteless and colourless… and boring. Definitely boring. You can never get any thrill from it."

"I think you're wrong," I countered, watching the gentle stream. "I don't know why or how, but there's something about water that seems dangerous."

"Dangerous?"

I nod. "Dangerous, powerful, like it could swallow you whole."

"Then why do you love it?"

"Because… it's strange. It can hurt you, but it also keeps you alive. And it's beautiful, whether it's blue or colourless." His lips part, and they raise into a grin. He shakes his head again, but this time, he does not disagree.

"Only you, Tris," he says, dipping his hand in the stream. "Only you." Then, quick as a dart, he pulls his hand from the stream and flicks it in my face, spraying water across my cheek. I squeal and duck, rolling across the ground and hiding behind a rock.

"It's on!" he yells. Mistake — I know where he is, now. Quietly, I wait for him to approach… and tackle him to the ground. Our laughter fills the cavern, bouncing off the echoey walls, and the reddish light from the setting sun pours through the hole at the apex like molten honey, casting shadows across our faces. Here, in this place, we are free from society. I roll off Tobias, lying beside him on my back, our arms and heads touching, and we stay like that until sun-fall before returning to our house, distinguished only by the number above the door. And, if I had anyone else as a mother, I probably could have walked into a different house and lived the rest of my life there, without even noticing my mistake.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"So, any plans for tonight, Tris?" Christina asks as she walks out from the stall. Pink bubbles forming in my hands, I clear my throat and shake my head.

"Not really," I say, averting my eyes and grabbing some paper towel. She gasps dramatically, swivelling her head towards me.

"Lies!" she cries out. "When are you going to learn not to lie to a Candor?"

Raising my eyebrows, I say, "Let's face it, Christina. You aren't much of a Candor." We both knew it, I guess, but we'd never talked about it before; it just slipped out.

Suddenly, she quiets — yes, she _quiets_ — and I remember: other families aren't so accepting of defection as mine. Even if Christina transfers, she will be seen as a traitor by her family, mother and father and sister. I don't know what I would do if I had to choose between how my mother sees me and who I really am.

"That's what confuses me," she says softly, running her hands under the tap. I look around the room, making sure that nobody can hear us; as open and fun as she seems, I've learned in the past few years that closed-off Christina hardly ever lets me in. She continues: "I overheard my mother talking about initiation. In Candor, they put us under the truth serum and make us spill all of our secrets. I know it's silly — we're eleven years old. We shouldn't be worrying about this stuff! I don't even have anything to hide…"

"You're never too young to have secrets," I whisper under my breath.

She doesn't hear me. "I just don't want everything out in the open, you know? Like, my mind is my own. I want to keep it that way. But then there's this pressure to tell the truth, almost an instinct. Like now. Of course, I'd never tell any of this to anyone else, so there's that. I'm caught between truth and lies."

"It's perfectly normal," I tell her, rubbing her arm soothingly. "You were raised to tell the truth, but that doesn't mean you have to. See?" Turning away from her, I face the mirror and stare at my reflection.

"Tris!" she squeals. I can see her in the mirror, too. She hasn't changed much in the past three years that I've known her: still cheery, excitable, brave. Her hair is cut shorter now, lining up with her jaw, and her eyelids are caked in green. I smile watching the both of us.

"My faction tells me not to look in the mirror. I just did. Does that make me vain? No, it doesn't. Just like you wanting privacy does not make you a liar. Okay?"

"Yeah." She brushes away a tear and takes my hand, grinning. "Thank you. Now we should get to lunch." I nod. Linking our arms together, we push through the doors and walk from the bathroom, arm in arm, grey, black, and white, confident, proud, again. Then, out of the blue, images bombard my vision. I freeze outside the door, eyes wide…

 _Caleb sees us. I smile and wave at him, my brother, and wait for him to smile back. He doesn't; his face contorts with rage, and he stomps over to me, grabs my arm, and drags me away from Christina into an empty hallway._

"Hey," Christina says, but her voice is faraway, spinning like money in a coin fountain. Round and round and round…

 _"_ _Beatrice, what is on your eyes?" His voice is low, scary, and I flinch away from him._

 _"_ _It's makeup," I tell him. "Christina put it on me. Isn't it pretty?"_

 _"_ _Pretty?" He yells, louder this time. "Pretty! Beatrice, you sound like a narcissist!"_

 _I frown. What that word means, I don't know, but it doesn't sound good. "But Caleb… it looks nice."_

 _"_ _How would you know that?" he snarls, pointing an accusatory finger at me. My heart quickens, and I know I've gotten myself into deep trouble._

"Tris?" Christina calls out. I hear her, but I am not listening…

 _"_ _I… I looked."_

 _He's quiet again for a minute, and I start to think that he's not angry anymore. Then, I feel a stinging pain on my cheek and grab it with both hands. Startled, I look up at him and realize; he hit me. A sob builds in my throat. "Go home, Beatrice, and tell our parents why I sent you back."_

I flinch, clasping my hands to my cheek, tears burning the corners of my eyes. "Caleb," I whisper, a sharp pain shooting through my chest. That's not how I want to remember him, how I want to remember my brother… I've already forgiven him for that and for everything. I forgave him a long time ago. I want him back. I just want him back.

Brushing my tears away, I straighten up and make my voice even. "Come on, Christina. Let's go," I instruct, taking a brisk pace to the cafeteria.

Following me, concerned, she says, "What was that?" I shake my head, swallowing the knot in my throat.

"It was nothing," I answer, quickening my gait. "Just some memories I'd rather forget." _Once we forget, we are only doomed to repeat…_ I shake my head again, so hard this time that my bun almost comes undone. Hastily, I fix it up, biting the inside of my cheek.

She says nothing and takes my hand again, walking slower. A sad smile, like she can understand what I feel, spreads across her face. "Look," she says, pointing somewhere in the distance, eyes lighting up. I giggle softly at the sight: Zeke has Uriah in a headlock. Again.

I shove the memory deep into the back of my mind, leaving it there to haunt me like an old picture stowed away in a dark, creepy attic. I smile.

We sit down at our table, rolling our eyes. "Be civil, Zeke," I scold, pulling out my lunch, "or I might just have to take you on myself. We both know how that one ends, my friend."

"Yeah, with me kicking your ass," he replies, plopping down beside me. Smelling my food, he scrunches up his nose in disgust. "How do you Stiffs eat that sludge?"

"Like this," I answer, spooning a forkful of bland beans into my mouth and making a show of chewing them slowly. He gags dramatically, putting a hand to his forehead. I flick his cheek, narrowing my eyes. "By the way, I would so not be the one whose ass got kicked."

"Yeah, right," Christina interrupts. "Like you could beat a Dauntless." I clear my throat, but don't argue. To be honest, I probably can't beat Zeke — but Uriah is a different story, and he's just as Dauntless. Still, I can't tell Christina that; she doesn't know about my training. I figure, the further I can keep her from finding out about Tobias, the better. And… there's a part of me that thinks she wouldn't look at me the same if she knew.

"Of course," I respond, aggrieved. "There's no way I could beat a Dauntless. After all, I'm just a weak Stiff."

Zeke frowns. "Tris…"

"Oh!" Christina exclaims suddenly, snapping from her reverie. "I forgot to ask. What are your plans for tonight that you won't tell me about?" I exchange glances with Zeke and Uriah.

"I already told you," I answer, poking at the potatoes in my tupperware. "Nothing special is happening."

"Beatrice Prior, if you don't tell me-"

"It's her birthday!" Uriah interrupts, throwing his arm around my shoulder and smiling cheekily. "Yeah, it's her birthday, and she's celebrating with her mother."

"Oh," she says, satiated. "Well then, happy birthday. Why didn't you tell me? Never mind, I'll never understand you, anyway. I'm off to buy my lunch… I really should start brown-bagging it." Getting up, she heads towards the lunch line, out of ear-shot.

I punch him in the arm. "What the hell, Uriah!"

"Ow! Tris!" he whines, rubbing the sore spot.

"It's not my birthday!"

"Well," he counters, "I couldn't exactly tell her whose birthday it really is. That would raise some questions, considering she doesn't know Tobias exists."

"Why did it have to be anyone's birthday? Abnegation don't celebrate them! You're a terrible liar," I snapped.

"Hey! _She_ doesn't know that… You really don't celebrate them?"

I shake my head. "Never have. It's self-indulgent."

"But we're celebrating Tobias' birthday."

I smile to myself, biting my lip. "Today is a special birthday."

Zeke chimes in. "Well, we're celebrating from now on with Dauntless Cake."

"Ooh," I reply. "The infamous treat. What does it taste like?"

"You know, like chocolate."

"What does _chocolate_ taste like?"

"You've never had chocolate?" They gasp, synchronized, and share a glance filled with determination. Uriah, still crazy-eyed, says, "You'll find out, tonight. We're bringing a whole cake. And we'll get some candles and sing while Tobias blows them out and ask what his wish is, even though he won't tell us because then it won't come true. Then he'll cut the cake, and you'll try it, and you'll be spoiled for every other faction and be forced to join us." His enthusiasm is endearing, and I can't help but grin stupidly.

"Just for the cake?" I say.

"Just for the cake," he replies.

A fuzzy feeling rises in my chest at the thought of the dream of a birthday: Tobias with his gorgeous smile, laughing and shoving cake into Zeke's face; Mama putting her arms around the both of us while Uriah pouts until we let him join; Tobias and I sneaking off around midnight to our cave, sharing the last piece of cake that we saved from Zeke's vacuum of a mouth. Perfect, blissful, exactly what Tobias deserves.

Sighing with happiness, I realize that it's not a dream; I only have to wait a few more hours. Staring at the clock…

* * *

"Eight forty-five," I whisper to myself in the darkness of my room. From the open window, a light breeze ruffles the white curtains and cools down my flushed skin. The moonlight is the lamp by which I write in my notebook: "Mama will be home in fifteen minutes, and we will celebrate. Finally. Today is the day, the special day… Tobias is turning thirteen."

Suddenly, a booming howl echoes through the night, loud and fierce as a wolf. Struck suddenly with fear, I hop off my bed and race to the windowsill, gazing through it, heart pounding in my chest. I sigh and run a hand through my hair; it's only Tobias and Zeke, locked in an affectionate wrestle.

"Hey," I call out into the backyard. They look up, and I glare at them. "You two scared me half to death!"

"Sorry, Bea!" Tobias calls back sheepishly. "That was just Zeke's war cry. What do you think?"

"I _think_ he sounds like a dying walrus," I answer, rolling my eyes. "Hold on, I'm coming down to ref. Neither of you play fair." Sprinting from my room, I race down the stairs, stopping at the base. We used to have carpet here… I burst through the front doors.

Outside, the air is brisk and fresh, like taking a sip of ice water on a hot day. I jog over to the boys, where Uriah is leaning against the house with a white box in his hands: the cake. A massive grin makes its way onto my face when he nods at me, confirming my suspicions. I face the older boys.

"Okay," I say, putting on my referee voice. "Are you guys ready to rumble?"

Tobias snorts, and I scowl at him. He puts his hands up playfully. "I surrender, I surrender. _But—_ I think we should put a wrap on the wrestling for today."

"Whatever you say, Birthday Boy," Zeke teases, pinching Tobias' cheeks. He brushes him off, smiling widely, and makes his way over to me. For a moment, we watch Zeke tackle Uriah and then scramble to catch the cake mid-air. Then, Tobias turns to face me.

"Hi," he says, taking my hand.

"Hi," I reply, squeezing. We lock eyes and grin stupidly, lost in the bliss of each other's warmth and comfort.

"I've missed you all day," he says, playing with my fingers, smiling so wide that his cheeks must be aching — I know, because mine are.

"So have I. I wish you could come to school with me."

He shrugs. "I do, too. But I have… Caleb's school material to study with."

My heart swells. "He's still taking care of us."

"Still." Absently, he traces the scar on his arm, gazing up at the moon, round and full. The milky light showers us, illuminating part of his face and leaving the other part in darkness. I take both of his hands into my own, stepping closer until our arms are pressed together.

He watches my face gravely. "I would, too."

"What?"

"I would still take care of you. Even if…" My lips tremble, and tears fall from my eyes.

"Shut up, Tobias."

"Tris—"

"I said shut up!" I bury my head into his shirt, not caring that my tears are making it wet. "Don't ever say anything like that…"

"Hey," he soothes, and I can hear the sad smile in the wavering of his voice. "Hey, come on. Don't cry, Baby."

 _Tobias lays on his stomach, eyes open. He is still weak, but he's gotten some sleep now. I sit on the chair beside the bed and watch him for a minute._

 _"_ _My name is Tobias… but you knew that." I giggle, and a small smile plays on his lips. It's full of relief, and his shoulders sag; until now, I never noticed how tense they were, but looking at them now, it's like night and day, black and white. He was so scared. "What's yours? I can't call you Baby."_

I sniffle. "You can't call me that, remember?"

He laughs softly, a laugh soggy with tears. "Of course I remember. The night we met."

"Four years ago," I say.

"Today's the big day," he adds. "I was nine when I met you. I've been looking forward to today for four years."

"Are you excited?" I ask.

"Of course I'm excited. I'm finally thirteen," he says. "When is Mama coming home?"

"Fifteen minutes," I reply automatically.

He chuckles. "You been counting down the minutes?"

"The seconds. I want to know where she's kept it all these years."

"Probably right under our noses," he says, tapping my nose. I giggle, and his eyes twinkle. "How bittersweet."

"She'll be home soon." I look up; there are no stars tonight. And if there are, they are hidden by the moon's shining light, drowning underneath it. But it's beautiful, so we don't notice for a while, sometimes not until the sun's up.

Tonight's wish will have to come from the blowing-out of candles.

All of a sudden, a figure darts out from the front of the house. I recognize her immediately, with her thin, dark hair and heart-shaped face. "Mama!" I call out, rushing to her side. "You're early."

"I know," she says, and she's out of breath, and her hair is loosed from her bun — she never lets her hair down in public — and sticking to her sweaty forehead. "I'm sorry, Baby, but I can't stay." Her voice shakes.

"When will you be back?" I ask as she places a kiss on my head.

She hesitates. "I won't."

"What?" I cry out, anger rising in my chest. "But it's Tobias' birthday! You can't miss it!"

"Beatrice—"

"I can't believe you!" I yell at her, pulling out of her hug. "Do you know how important today is to us, to _him_?"

"Of course I do! It's just—"

"No!" I shout. "Don't lie to me! If you knew, you wouldn't leave!" A loud bang comes from in front of the house, and Mama jumps. Her upper eyelids raise, making her eyes look wider, and her lips part in shock. My forehead wrinkles in concern. "Mama?"

"What?" She shakes her head. "Never mind. Look, Tris, I have to go now. Goodbye." Then, as if only just remembering, she adds, "Tell Tobias happy birthday. And… I hid what you're looking for in the place where you went to hide away."

Glancing over her shoulder, she pulls me into another hug and kisses the top of my head again. Her fingers wrap around one of my golden locks. "Your hair is getting long, Tris," she says, twirling the strand between her fingers. Mama rests a gentle hand on my shoulder, eyes swimming with some unreadable feeling, before she turns suddenly and runs the way she came.

"Mama!" I call after her, following her around the corner, but she is gone already. Under my breath, I whisper, "Where I went to hide away…"

Tobias sprints to my side. "What was that?" he asks. Thick clouds move to cover the moon, and he has to squint to see in the darkness. It is at this point that we both note the lack of stars. He says, "Was Mama here?"

"She left," I answer, running a hand through my hair.

"Left?"

I nod, bewildered. "She said she couldn't stay. And… to tell you happy birthday." The skin on Tobias' neck strains as he swallows loudly, and he wraps his arms around me from behind.

The others round the corner. "What was that noise?" Zeke calls out, holding his brother protectively behind him. Uriah's face is paler than the moonlight, like all of the blood has been drained from his veins. I can barely see him in the dark, but the whites of his eyes glow bright as a cat's.

"I don't know," I reply, resting my hands on Tobias' arms across my chest. "But Mama sure ran when she heard it."

"Tris, what _exactly_ happened?" Tobias says. "What _exactly_ did she say?"

"Just that she couldn't stay, she wasn't coming back, and to tell you happy birthday. And then she said… she said, 'I hid what you're looking for in the place where you went to hide away.'"

"What does that mean?"

I pause. "Tobias, she said _what we're looking for_. There's only one thing we're looking for. And, today…"

"Of course," he exhales, breath tickling my ear. "So she wants us to find it?"

"But… Toby, she seemed _off_."

" _Off_ how?"

My breath catches in my throat. "I think something's wrong. She seemed panicked, almost. Like she was… in danger. And then the noise…"

He freezes, arms stiffening around me. "Beatrice," he says slowly, pronouncing each syllable. "When she said she wouldn't be back, did she say tonight?"

"What?"

"Did she say, 'I won't be back _tonight_ '?" My breathing catches in my throat, and he pulls away, grasping me by my shoulders. " _Tris_."

"No," I breath, voice so thin it could slip through the cracks of a door. "No. I asked her when she would be back… and she said, 'I won't.'"

"Guys," Zeke interjects. "Let's not get worked up. It could just be a coincidence." His voice is perfectly pragmatic, but his expression is just as uneasy as ours.

"Yes, Zeke, it _could_ be," Tobias says, "but it could also be something else. Mama would never miss my thirteenth birthday unless something important was happening."

Zeke frowns. "What's so special about thirteen, anyway? Why is today so important?"

"Because…" Tobias trails off, lost in a memory, perhaps. Raising his head, he meets my eyes; in that moment, it is as if we share one thought, one terrible, spine-chilling, blood-curling name that rolls through our minds like a tsunami that tears through an unsuspecting town: Marcus Eaton. And, to answer Zeke's question…

"That's it!" I cry out. "Marcus has gone after her! She must be hiding somewhere! But where?"

He quiets for a minute, as if trying to remember every last thing she's said. "She must have gone somewhere safe… somewhere she has access to a weapon. The place where you went to hide away! Tris, it's a _riddle_ for you."

I pull at my hair, frustrated, and cry out, "But I don't know where it is!"

"But we do know something," Tobias says through clenched teeth. "It's the same place where she keeps the gun."

* * *

Kneeling, Tobias slides my foot into the boot gently. He rests it against his leg as he pulls the laces tight, making a knot, and then another. Resting on my bed, I watch his concentrating face solemnly. The room is silent. A soft lantern burns on my bedside table, illuminating the both of us. I have closed my white curtains and, for the most part, they block out the pale moonlight.

"What are you thinking?" he asks as my gaze falls on the covered window. He speaks quietly, quiet as the flickering of the lantern's flame, as he sets my foot down and picks up the other. Really, I am thinking of three things: one, how each and every movement of his seems agonizingly slow; two, where the hell my mother is hiding; three…

"I don't think you'd want to hear it," I tell him. He pulls the laces tight, and the feeling is comforting. I shake my head. "If you have any love at all for your father—"

He folds his lips together. "He's not my father." But he doesn't say that he hates Marcus, or that he doesn't still love him. He doesn't get defensive, doesn't start shouting.

"I understand," I tell him, reaching out to hold his face in my hands. His chin rests in my palm, a vulnerable state. "It's so easy to love a father… and so much harder to hate him."

"Should be the other way 'round," Tobias mutters. He sets my foot down gently, standing up and leaving the room. For a minute, I think he might not come back. Then he enters, an oversized training bag, black with flames rising from the sides, slung over his shoulder. I slide my feet from the footstool, and he drops the bag onto it and tugs at the zipper, revealing sets of knives and knuckle wraps and rolls of bandaging.

"Everything but a pistol," he muses, picking through the weapons. Once he selects one, a throwing knife designed for precision and agility, he shoves the bag towards me. "She didn't leave us unprepared. I guess I should have seen this coming."

"Seen what?" I add bitterly, reaching into the bag without looking. He grabs my hand, guiding it towards the handles instead of the blades. I laugh without humour, muttering under my breath. "Hide-and-seek, that's what this is. A stupid game of hide-and-seek. I swear, if Marcus even lays a hand on my mother… I'll kill him."

Tobias watches me, examining my face. "That's just it," he says, eyes narrow. "For some reason, I don't doubt that you will."

"And that upsets you?"

"Not exactly, no." He sucks on the inside of his cheek, and I notice how his face is like a sculpture. I wonder for a moment, if I touch it, will it feel like the soft skin I know, or will it feel like marble? The Marble Boy sighs. "Despite what you may think, Tris, your ambition does not disgust me. It's one of my favourite things about you."

The lantern flickers, and my frown lessens into a straight line. "You should get dressed," I suggest. He nods, pulling a black t-shirt from the bag, and works his buttons. As he slides out of his dress shirt, the fading scar on his abdomen sticks out; it is long and pale pink, cinched up and protruding from his stomach. I clench my fists so hard that the nails dig into my skin.

"My father did that to you," I whisper, ashamed. He spins around, t-shirt loose around his neck, and stares at me, gaze following mine down to the scar. Slipping his arms through the shirt, he comes closer to me, and my eyes focus on him in the dark light.

His long, pale fingers hold up the shirt around his midsection. "Your father did this to me," he repeats, voice lacking the pointed tone that I anticipated. Then, he turns around, showing me his back. Silver scars, familiar to me, run along the skin. "My father did this to me."

He turns around again and takes my hand, placing it on his chest. "Feel the beating heart?" I nod. It's impossible to not notice, beating as hard and fast as mine. He whispers, "You did that to me."

As I stare into his eyes, I am swallowed by an overwhelming feeling of deep affection, and it strikes me in that moment that I can not live without this boy. And it is then, when I imagine this, that I remember what I have been trying to forget — the time when I almost had to live without him. _Once we forget we are doomed to repeat…_ but I have let myself remember. Now, I can only hope that it isn't too late.

I tell Tobias, "I know where the hiding place is."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

By the time we leave, the downpour has begun. The ten o'clock train whooshes by us as we chase after it in the pouring rain, the clinking of its gears loud and blaring, ominous, followed by a whistle, a warning slipping through the teeth of a ghost. Silver wind rushes past me, the speed of my body breaking it in two, and I clench my wrapped fists, feeling power surge through me. Each step of my feet blends with the next, and in a moment, it feels like I am hovering above the damp grass as I run, choking on the cold air as it enters my lungs.

"Faster!" cries Zeke over the howling wind and rain, far ahead of us. Tobias and I strain our legs to carry us further, feeling a deep pain shoot through them, but we only run faster. "Keep straight! We're gaining on her!"

Sweat and water cloud my vision, but through it I see Zeke grab ahold of the train handle and swing himself onto the protruding platform. With his palm, he slams down on a button and the doors part. He jumps in and holds onto the rail, beckoning us forward, hanging precariously out the side. Uriah grabs his hand, and the two boys tumble backwards and disappear into the train.

"We won't make it," I choke out, watching the train get smaller and smaller. My lungs burn as we run, and Tobias takes my hand, pulling me with him.

"Yes we will," he yells. "We have to. For Mama." With those words as our motivation, we run faster than we ever have, every inch of our skin and muscle screaming with agony, but it pays off; Tobias jumps in, crouching on the platform.

I run side by side with the train, willing my legs to take me just a little further. Tobias should look relieved — he's in, at least — but he seems like his heart is about to explode out of his chest. Suddenly, I realize that the wind is pushing me closer to the tracks, edging me towards the soaring metal car that could crush me to pieces under its weight.

"Break right!" he yells out. "It's not worth it!" I shake my head, desperate against the wind, and keep straight. I know that if I just stay a little longer…

A shooting pain bursts through my face. Feeling for the source, I pull my hand away and see blood — something has cut my cheek. Frustration flows through me, spurring me on, and I reach, jump… and grab the handle.

Tobias' arm wraps around my waist, drawing me into the car, my knees bumping painfully against the metal rail. "That was stupid, Tris!" he yells as he forces the doors shut with one hand, the other's grip on me tighter than the laces on my boots. "That was reckless and dangerous and…" I let him yell. Eventually he stops; his fingers find the cut on my cheek, and he wipes the blood away with his thumb, sighing.

"I would have done the exact same thing," he whispers, touching his feather-soft lips to my forehead. "That was so stupid, Tris." And he doesn't say it, but I know he is proud of me for acting Dauntless. No, for _being_ Dauntless.

"Look at it this way," Zeke says from the opposite end of the car, swaying back and forth as he holds onto the poles. "If you can do that, you'll pass Dauntless initiation without a doubt."

Tobias shakes his head at Zeke and pulls me to his chest. "My girl," he whispers into my hair. "So brave." My hearts soars in my chest, and I grip his shirt in my wrapped, blood-soaked fists.

He sighs again. "I have to talk to Zeke," he says. "You'll be alright?" I nod, and he kisses my forehead once more, hesitating before withdrawing his arms. His eyes, blue and deep, lock with mine. "Careful, Tris," he says. And with that, he's halfway across the car.

The floor begins to sway beneath my feet, which makes me think that sitting down is a good idea. I rest on a wooden crate, legs apart, elbows propped up against them. The air begins to return to my lungs, and I lean my back against the wall, closing my eyes. Someone sits on the crate beside me, their body spreading warmth to mine.

"You alright, Tris?" Uriah asks, resting a hand on my shoulder. I nod — I don't need to tell him about how my head aches and my lungs burn and how I think there's something wrong with my knees.

"I'm alive," I say, brushing dirt from my black pants.

He stares at me, almost with reverence. "You are no Stiff," he says, eyes wide with wonder. "That was incredible, what you did before."

"It was the only way," I reply, wiping the sweat from my forehead. "Taking the train, I mean. If we'd taken the route I took last time to my hideout, running, it would have taken hours."

"This _hideout_ of yours," Uriah begins, cautious.

I sigh. "It's a long story."

"We have time. If you want to tell me, that is."

"Okay," I decide. "But I've never told anyone before."

"You can trust me," he urges. "I think of you as my little sister. I love you and Tobias."

I can trust Uriah. This much I know. I nod. "It was three years ago, just a few months after we found Tobias on the street and took him in. He was still recovering — it makes me sick that it took so long, after what his father… Anyway, my… my brother, Caleb, had gotten terribly ill one night, and we needed to take him to the hospital. Mama went, and I stayed behind with Tobias.

"We didn't know it, but that was the night that my father was promoted to Vice Leader of Abnegation. I remember thinking, how could a group of people devoted to selflessness have such selfish fools in power over them? But my father, there was something dark in him that night. Something wicked.

"He came around the house while I was making Tobias dinner and broke in through the window. I remember the sound it made when he hurled his beer bottle at the glass and it shattered. He crawled through it, the glass cutting him to pieces, but he didn't care. The alcohol made him numb to the pain. He shook as he walked — that's how drunk he was — with blood seeping through his clothes and a knife clenched in his fists. It was horrifying.

"I… I tried… tried to save Toby… tried to keep him safe…" I brush away the tears. They shine along the back of my palm, mixed red with blood, and the saltiness of them sting the cut on my cheek. "He told me to run. I wouldn't listen, not even when he told me that he would never forgive me if I didn't listen. But when my father held the knife to his neck and told me the same thing… I knew that my being there was only making him angrier, and I couldn't fight him myself. I would only make it worse. So… I…"

"You ran." I can almost hear the shame in Uriah's voice, the insinuation that I am a coward. He is not wrong.

"I ran. I ran for hours and hours through the city, and I hated myself, so I ran further, and eventually I ended up in my hideout — an abandoned warehouse at the intersection of North and Fairfield. When I closed the door behind me, I collapsed. Woke up days later, starved half to death, and wandered back into the factionless sector where Anna — a friend of mine — found me and took me home. Tobias was alive when I came home, thank God, but Mama had made a makeshift hospital upstairs because we couldn't take him to a real one. Andrew had sliced his stomach with a knife. From that day on, we all keep a knife under our pillows. It doesn't matter much, though, or do Caleb any good… it seems everyone in my family is meant to get hurt."

My eyes lower to Uriah's hands. They are balled up, white at the knuckles. "I know what you're thinking," he says. "I've known you for years, Tris. Stop it. I don't think you are a coward, not at all."

"I ran, Uriah."

"You had no other choice!" he cries out.

"I could have found help, called for someone…"

"You were hysterical! I would have been, too! No one should have to go through that. It was _not_ your fault. I don't blame you, your mother doesn't blame you, _Tobias_ doesn't blame you. Don't blame yourself."

"My mother…" My heart tightens as I think about what she must be doing right now.

"Your mother will be fine," Uriah says, as if reading my mind. "She was Dauntless, right?"

"She still is. She's brave and selfless at the same time." I stop, closing up. I don't want to reveal my mother's divergence my accident. Uriah doesn't seem to think anything of it. I suppose he doesn't even know what divergence is, nor will he ever have to.

"You are, to. Brave and selfless, I mean."

"Thanks," I say. I don't tell him that I know am far from either of those things.

"I wonder," Uriah begins as if to himself, "if it's possible to _be_ both Dauntless and Abneg…"

A loud whistle drowns his train of thought, and Tobias and Zeke both stand, yanking open the two doors. "It's time," Tobias calls over the deafening noise that floods the car.

"Time for what?" I call back.

His eyes flicker to me. "Time to jump."

* * *

Knees stinging and dripping with blood, I lead the boys through the narrow streets, muddy from the blinding rain. The Abnegation Headquarters nears, and we run faster. "The place is 'round back," I shout at them, glad that there are no people out at this hour.

"Wait!" Tobias calls out, and I stop. He looks around anxiously before taking my hand. "Tris, there are _guns_ in there."

"I know," I reply. "I solved the riddle."

" _Tris."_

"Look, Tobias, for all we know there's no one in there. Maybe Mama just hid the gun and left. But even if something happens, we are here because we _want_ to be here. Because we _have_ to be here."

He watches me for a moment, eyes scanning up and down my face. "Fear God alone," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"Fear God alone," I repeat. "So?"

He takes a deep breath, nodding. "Okay. But Zeke and I are going in first." I agree easily. I know Tobias well enough to realize that protesting will do me no good and will only waste time. He reaches down, pulling a flashlight from his boot, and flips it on, one hand up with a knife enclosed in it. Jerking his head, he motions for us to follow.

As we approach the abandoned warehouse, the silence becomes eerie. Zeke pushes the front door open, and it parts with a loud squeak. It's pitch black inside apart from Tobias' flashlight, and each step seems to echo across the walls. Suddenly, I notice an orange light — a flame — from around the corner.

"Look," I whisper to Tobias, pointing in the direction. My voice is low, soft, but it is loud as a gunshot in the deadly quiet. He nods, motioning for the brothers to follow us. My heart hammers against my ribcage, ready to explode at the slightest of sounds. As we round the corner, we see a door cracked open and a torch hung up on the wall.

I shove through the door, knife positioned. Tobias' flashlights pans across the room, landing on a dark figure in the corner, and I sigh in relief. It's only a sand bag propped against the wall. "There's no one here," I breathe. "Mama's fine."

Tobias smiles at me. "See? Nothing to worry about. I told you."

"Ha, what a joke. You were a wreck."

"I was not!"

Uriah throws an arm around me, grinning. "I told both of you. Hey, don't you think this would make a great training room?"

"Yeah, if it wasn't hours away," Tobias counters. The two launch into an argument about efficiency and time management, and I just laugh at them, feeling my heart swell back up. I feel lighter than I have the whole day.

Wandering over to the sand bag, I crouch by it. It's heavy and large and covered in dust, and there is a substantial bump at the front. Running my fingers along the burlap, I notice that the bump is cold and hard… like metal. I pick up the bag, straining the muscles in my arms, and turn it over. Sands spills across the floor.

I dig through the contents, feeling around. My fingers hit the source of the coldness and hardness, closing around the handle of a long and narrow rifle."Tobias," I call out, beckoning him over. As he makes his way over to me, I yank it out of the pile and show it to him. I turn it over in my hands just as a familiar voice calls from the doorway.

"I should have waited," the voice says, "to tell you. At least until tomorrow. Perhaps then you wouldn't have followed me here."

"Mama!" Tobias cries out, tackling her in a hug. Quickly, I bury the gun in the sand again. I don't know why I do it, exactly, but I do. Standing up, I rush to Mama's side and wrap my arms around her.

"Happy thirteenth birthday, Tobias," she says, kissing his forehead. "You're finally old enough to learn to shoot a gun. Did you enjoy the scavenger hunt?"

"You scared me half to death, Mama," he replies, voice low and full of lingering fear. "We thought you were in trouble."

At his words her expression hardens, and she says, "Son—"

"He is _my_ son," another voice interrupts, a voice that could cut like a knife or embed itself into your stomach like a bullet. My heart sinks to my feet. "I would appreciate if you didn't delude the boy with your false affection, Natalie."

"It's not false, _Marcus._ " She says his name like the curses that I struggle to keep in. "My affection for my boy is pure and true. That is more than you could ever say."

"I suppose you're right," he muses, sauntering towards us, grin like a cheshire cat's. "I never did want a son. I wanted a daughter." He smiles sadly. Suddenly, Tobias' flashlight goes out. The torch on the wall illuminates the room. Marcus continues, "She would be beautiful like her mother, with her hair and my eyes. Ah, yes. My daughter."

"What is he talking about?" I whisper to Tobias. He shakes his head — don't know. As I watch Marcus lost in his reverie, I feel fear creep up my spine like the cold in winter.

"Anyways," Marcus says, snapping out. "That's unimportant at the moment. What _is_ important, however, is the issue of my son. I want him back." The frosty fear envelopes me and turns into terror, and I grasp Tobias' hand. This is a declaration of war if ever I saw one.

"No," Mama says, but her voice wavers. It's more a protest than a rejection. Tobias seems to realize this as well, and he squeezes my hand. What has changed between Caleb's funeral and now?

Marcus notices as well. "Finally realized it, have we?"

"Son of a bitch," she snaps. "You underhanded, sick—"

"My, Natalie, you've got quite the temper," he drawls, making his way over to Mama. "How does it feel? A Dauntless fallen to her own faction's technology?"

Tobias' eyes widen beside me. "A serum," he whispers, his hand falling loose from mine. "What has he done to her?"

Suddenly, Mama's eyes widen and glaze over. Her body remains upright, but it is _stiff._ Like a bolt of lightening, Marcus' hand shoots out and grabs her around the throat, so tight I can see his knuckles turn pale. Her lips part, gasping for breath as he cuts off her airway with his fist.

Zeke springs into action, running towards Marcus with uncalculated purpose. Horror strikes my chest as the older man drives a knife into the boy's stomach. Zeke falls, blood spurting from the wound, staining his shirt. Uriah rushes to his side, screams filling the room, and grasps his brother's face in his hands, calling out his name over and over. "Zeke!"

I turn my eyes to Marcus. As his grasp around my mother's neck tightens, she chokes out random words jumbled together, eyes still hazy. Blinded by rage, I run at Marcus. His weapon is embedded in Zeke's abdomen, so he is left unarmed. My fist jams into his jaw, and a snap resounds in the echoey room, but I am knocked to the ground by a blow that comes from nowhere, unimaginable pain searing through me like white hot lava as my head connects with the rocky ground. My vision blurs.

Mama's choked sobs grown louder, and then begin a gradual decrescendo. She is suffocating. She is _dying_. My lazy eyes look up — everything is moving slower — and I see Tobias. In his hands is the gun that I hid under the sand, and it is pointed at Marcus.

The gun goes off, the loud explosion shaking the ground and walls, and a bullet sinks into Mama's chest.

All I can see is blood.

* * *

"Mama?" _She turns around, and I can see her holding a rag and wiping the dust off of a pair of scissors. They haven't been touched in three months._

 _She walks over to me and messes around with the cabinet that I am sitting in front of. "Yes, Beatrice?" Mama slides open a keypad and presses a few numbers. My eyes trail her movements, just like they do every time._

 _5-2-7-6-3. The cabinet slides open to reveal my face._

 _She should block the code from my view, but she doesn't. If I wanted to, I could cheat and see my reflection anytime._

 _Still, I never look until it's time for my haircut._

 _"Beatrice?" I stop looking at myself and turn to Mama, remembering that I want to ask her a question._

* * *

 _I tell her what I've been afraid to, because I'm brave now. "I don't like being called Beatrice. It's a Stiff name."_

 _"You want something Dauntless," she says. I nod, because it's true. I want a Dauntless name, something bold, something unique, something that makes me feel alive… but that is a lot of pressure to put on a name._

 _"Yes, Mama. Something Dauntless."_

 _She thinks for a moment, as if imaging, as if becoming lost in a memory. "Tris," she says, suddenly. "We can call you Tris. Do you like that?"_

Tris _… "It's perfect, Mama!"_

 _She smiles. "Let's try it out, then." She sticks out her hand — a Dauntless greeting. In Abnegation, we acknowledge by nodding heads. "Hello."_

 _"Hi, my name is Tris." I stick my hand out and shake hers. It feels foreign, strange, but I like it._

 _I like it a lot._

* * *

 _Mama glances up at us, and the look on her face leads me to believe that she thinks we will be scared of her. We are not; instead, we are proud. Our Mama is strong. She is brave. She is what we want to be._

 _She lets him go; she is merciful. "Get out, Andrew, and don't you dare come back and threaten me or my kids ever again."_

 _"Soft like a teddy bear," he mutters as he backs away, rubbing his throat, and the door closes gently behind him. Tobias lets go of my hand and runs down the stairs to Mama, where she pulls him into a hug._

 _Then, Toby turns around and calls to me. "Come down here, Bea-Tris." I join them, and we all stay there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, and soon enough Caleb joins as well._

 _It's over. Finally, it's over_

* * *

 _She spins around with purpose shining in her eyes just as Tobias crawls out from beneath the curtain. "I'm going to train you both."_

 _Tobias voices our confusion: "Train us for what, Mama?"_

 _She beams, twinkling like the star from my nursery rhymes as a baby. "For Dauntless."_

 _"What?" Surprise engulfs me like an ocean wave. Toby seems the same, frozen mid-climb into my cot — perhaps his wave was too cold. He unfreezes and climbs in, wrapping his arms around me. His coat is gone, and he is in a grey t-shirt and slacks. I move closer to him._

 _"Both of you want to transfer to Dauntless, correct? You wouldn't be leaving me here. I love you, Baby, and you, Tobias, if you pick Abnegation or Dauntless, or Amity, or Candor, or even Erudite like your brother." Her nose wrinkles up at the last one, but the smile is still on her face, and I know she is joking._

* * *

 _Mama pulls us into her arms. "Thank God, you are both okay." Her sobs fill the air, raking through her body, and her arms shake around us._

 _"Mama," Tobias soothes, rubbing her shoulder gently. "What happened?" Her sobs grow louder, strangled, and an unintelligible word, like a rush of air, is pushed through her lips._

 _"Le… Le…"_

 _I grasp her arms, making her look me in the eyes, which I am sure are shining with worry. Hysteria pours off her like sweat, and her eyes are bloodshot, red as the fiery sun draping over the mountains. "What? Mama…"_

 _"Ca.. Cale—"_

 _My heart stops in that moment… or maybe it is beating so fast that I can't even feel it anymore. The pain in my ribs is excruciating, so unimaginable that I don't even realize that it's in my head. It's real pain, physical pain, like I've been stabbed, and one word repeats itself in my mind:_

Caleb, Caleb, Caleb, Caleb, Caleb….

* * *

 _"Eight forty-five," I whisper to myself in the darkness of my room. From the open window, a light breeze ruffles the white curtains and cools down my flushed skin. The moonlight is the lamp by which I write in my notebook: "Mama will be home in fifteen minutes, and we will celebrate. Finally. Today is the day, the special day… Tobias is turning thirteen."_

* * *

I stare at the wall as the nurse reads from a list. "Medial ligament sprain in right knee from some sort of impact, stitches to the head, and a concussion. You'll have to wake her up every few hours. Oh my, what has your daughter gotten into?"

Andrew's eyes narrow. "Oh, she's a troublemaker, that one. But at least she didn't turn out as bad as her mother."

The nurse looks at him with sympathy. "Mr. Prior, sir, I am very sorry for your loss."

Tears well up in his eyes, and I can't tell if they are real or fake. He nods. "No one saw it coming. That factionless man just came out of nowhere and attacked them and the Dauntless boy." I don't try to tell the nurse the truth. It is useless. I am powerless. The truth is powerless.

"Where is he?" I say, voice flat and emotionless. Andrew's head swivels when he hears me, and he does the whole concerned parent act. It's the same as the day I met Uriah and Zeke… "Where is Zeke?"

"Mr. Pedrad is fine," the nurse tells me. "Well, he will be. The procedure was a success." She fiddles with a tray on top of a rolling cart. On it is a syringe.

Andrew hesitates. "Will you give us a moment, please?"

"Of course," she replies, leaving the room. Andrew glares at me, but there is weakness behind it, tiredness.

"Where is Tobias?" I say. It is not a question so much as a statement that requires an answer.

A smirk glances across his face. "Who, the boy? Why would you want to see him again? You were there, were you not, when he aimed a rifle and shot your mother in the heart?"

"He didn't—"

"The boy had perfect aim," he mused, "for someone who had never shot a gun before. You'd almost think he'd had _practice_ with the precision…"

"Where is Tobias?" I ask again, nothing of substance in my voice.

Andrew scoffs, rising from his seat, and runs his fingers along the cabinet beside my bed. He saunters over to the cart and picks up the loaded syringe, squirting bits of blue liquid from the top. His eyes find mine.

"The boy," he says, "is _gone_."

With that, the beast walks towards me, wearing the head of my father. I close my eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

_Three years later…_

 **Chapter Fourteen**

When I submerge myself into the icy water, I am careful not to make a sound. Just filling up the tub took me the better part of an hour. Any heat from the faucet has disappeared into the chilly air, and I shiver, drawing my knees up to my chest and hugging them tightly.

I close my eyes, willing myself to not see how red the water is turning. Every muscle in my body aches, and every inch of my skin is sticky. As I rest my back against the wall, it glues, and I peel myself away from it, cringing from the sharp pain. I curl myself into a ball and splash my hand around in the shark-infested water.

Maybe I should take refuge in the fact that the bathroom door is locked… but I know better than that. If he can't break it down, he will find a way to come in through the window again. If he finds me then, I will have hell to pay for trying to keep him out.

My eyes drift to the window. It is cracked open behind the gentle grey curtain, wind pushing against the soft fabric, making it pulse back and forth like my chest as I breathe. It calms me, and I sigh.

What was really only three years ago feels like a different lifetime: not my own, but someone else's seen through my eyes, alive only in my memory. It is in moments like these, where the cold water consumes me and the fluttering curtains calm me, that I remember the feeling — being human. Sometimes it's hard to remember something like that when I look and feel and sound like a wounded animal.

My hair sticks to my arms, the golden locks matted with thick, dry blood. It curves with my skin, stopping short at my hips. I have not cut it in many months.

Perhaps my body has grown since then. I have not noticed. I possess a sort of detachment when it comes to my outer shell; maybe it is because I am so ashamed of how frail it has become, how bruised and battered, how my muscles have shrivelled up and died since I ended my training that I no longer wish to claim it as my own.

As for my face… it may have changed, and it may look exactly the same as when I was eleven years old. I have not looked in a mirror since. A week ago, I turned fourteen. The year before that, thirteen; I don't like to speak about that day.

I shift slightly. Even the water doesn't feel clean anymore; a shower would be better, but I can't risk the noise. Sighing, I get to work, scrubbing my body until it feels like I have shed a layer of skin. As the blood washes away, ancient silver scars shine along my arms, beckoning for the newer, fresher ones to join them. I can't wait until they do and the pain that they bestow upon me in this moment is just a fleeting memory. I try not to think about the fact that once the ones that cause me pain now fade, there will only be more.

When I step out of the water and grab my towel, my fingers leave watery red marks on the fabric. I wrap it around myself. Quietly, I sneak into my room, closing the door gently behind me, and grab my first aid kit out of my closet, attending to my wounds. I have gotten over my aversion to blood.

Once my bandages are secure, I get dressed quickly in the same dreary Abnegation clothes, making sure to choose the ones that are too big for me. Our clothes never fit us right anyway, so they will not notice that my sleeves fall inches past my fingertips and that the collar of my shirt fits the bottom half of my face inside of it. I hide my face in my shirt, letting my breath warm up my chin. Slinging my satchel over my shoulder, I slip my Faction History textbook inside of it. After a moment, Caleb's dictionary follows, and I stumble out of my room.

I tiptoe through the halls, stretching myself over the loose floorboard in front of my mother's old bedroom with practiced skill, and slip down the stairs. The kitchen is dark, the window over the sink boarded up because it gives a clear view into the place where my pain is created. I suppose the darkness is fitting in that way; the rest of the time, it is merely an inconvenience.

This morning, my father is not awake to greet me. I know that if he was, he would smile and offer me an apple like he wasn't the one to draw across my skin with a knife like it was his brush and I was his canvas only hours ago. I know that I should wait for him to wake and eat breakfast together like a normal Abnegation family, like we used to be, like he wants for us in the mornings. But I will not.

I take the apple and burst through the front doors loudly; now that I am out of the house, he can't hurt me. In this moment, I do not have to return home tonight. In this moment, I will run towards the bus stop and never look back. This moment will only last until the bus drops me off in this same spot eight hours from now. But I will live in the moment.

A smile spreads across my face, and pain follows it. Only one of them is fake. Neither fades as I climb onto the bus and take my seat beside Christina.

"You excited for today?" she asks, running her fingers through her knotted hair down to her jaw where it ends. Jealously bursts through me as my hair tugs painfully, caught in the seat.

"What's today?" I reply. She gives me a look of reproach.

"Earth to Tris. Today is Aptitude Test day."

"Ours isn't for another two years," I remind her. "We're only fourteen."

"First of all, fourteen is _practically_ sixteen," she insists for the tenth time in the past week. "And secondly, we do know someone who's taking the test today. Aren't you Abnegation people supposed to remember this stuff?"

The blood drains from my face. Someone who is taking the test today? Only one name comes to mind: _Tobias_. The boy I haven't spoken to in three years. The boy who killed my mother. "What?"

She raises her eyebrows, but she looks concerned. "Zeke. He's taking the test today. Remember his sixteenth birthday last month?"

"Oh, right. I remember." I sigh, pressing my palm against my forehead. "Sorry, I'm a little out of it today."

I can tell by the look on her face that she doesn't believe me — she is Candor by birth — but thankfully, she drops it. "If you say so. You think he's going to get Dauntless? Ah, who am I kidding. Of course he will. This is Zeke we're talking about, after all."

"Zeke will definitely stay," I mutter, leaning back in my seat. Christina continues on, talking about the Aptitude Test, about what she thinks will happen, about what life in each faction would be like, and as much as I want to listen, I allow myself to fade away and close my eyes. She probably knows that I'm not listening, but she is content with talking to my lifeless body. I am content with letting her, as her chatter draws my life further and further from that of a regular Abnegation girl my age: quiet, demure.

I let my thoughts drift to the blue-eyed boy again. I would like to say that I haven't thought of him in three years, since the day he killed my mother and left me with my father, but it would not be true. Luckily, I am not a Candor, so I tell myself that I no longer care for him the way I used to.

I tell myself that I no longer love him as my fingers slip into the pocket of my robe, feeling for a familiar smooth surface — the black Dauntless stone. I caress it softly, instinctively, and almost unconsciously as it brings me desperate comfort. As I breathe in and out slowly, my racing heart begins to calm.

 _I close my eyes, humming quietly as he runs his fingers through my golden locks. "Why did you give it to me? It's obviously special to you."_

 _"_ _So are you," he replies without hesitation, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "That's why I gave it to you. Because I love you."_

I tell myself that I no longer love him back, but I know that I am wrong.

* * *

When the lunch bell rings, I don't wait for anyone else to leave; I slip out of my seat and from the classroom, and I am out the building's front doors before the final shrill note hangs eerily in the air. My eyes fall upon my destination: the Upper Levels building. Like the Mid-Levels where I will be staying until next year, the building is made of glass and steel. It is where the fifteen and sixteen year olds attend their final years of schooling (unless they are Erudite, that is). Today, it is where the Aptitude Tests are taking place.

Briskly, I made my way through the doors. Curious eyes fall on me, but I ignore them, picking up my pace through the unfamiliar halls. Finally, I spot him sitting among the Dauntless-borns, his head thrown back laughing as his friends clap him on the back. I hesitate to approach him, afraid that he might be embarrassed of being friends with a Stiff, but when his eyes catch mine, his smile widens and he waves me over.

"Beatrice!" he calls out. I notice the flinch in his shoulders when he calls me by my given name. I feel the same, but we must keep up pretences, now more than ever. I grin shyly and make my way over to the rowdy table, each head of hair a different colour, each collarbone covered in a different pattern, each nose pierced with a different stud. It's not hard to see that Zeke is one of the tame ones, which is saying something in itself.

"Who's the Stiff?" says a girl around his age, pale with orange hair dyed pink at the tips, her black tank top hanging low on her chest. She is beautiful, I realize. By the way Zeke looks at her, it seems that he does, too.

"Don't call her that, Shauna," he snaps. She holds her hands up in the air mockingly. I smile at her hesitantly, feeling more and more like a Stiff. Zeke holds his hand out to me and directs me into a seat beside him.

"This is Beatrice," he introduces, and I wave at them weakly. "She's a friend of Uriah's."

"Uriah's friends with a Stiff," someone mutters from the back. Zeke glares at him, and he shuts up.

The red-haired girl, Shauna, pipes in, "How old is she? Is she fourteen like your brother? She doesn't look fourteen. How on Earth did those two become friends?"

"Hey," I whisper, and all heads turn to me. It's the first thing I've said. I clear my throat, and this time my voice is stronger, louder: "I'm right here. You can speak directly to me." It isn't much, or it wouldn't be to anyone else, but in this moment, I am brave for speaking up. It's laughable really, compared to jumping onto a moving train in a thunder storm or running at a murderous man unarmed, but I've never felt braver.

With those words, I realize that I can be Beatrice and still act like Tris. I don't have to be different versions of myself around different people.

The table falls silent, and they all stare at me for a moment too long; in their eyes, I see shock, curiosity, a little amusement, but most of all… respect. It surprises me, and it feels good. I clear my throat. "To answer your question, Shauna, I am fourteen. I met Uriah in the infirmary a few years ago after getting punched in the face."

She chokes on her water, and Zeke slaps her back roughly. Shauna swats his hand away. " _You_ got punched in the face? What the hell did you do, help someone so much that you pissed them off?"

I glare at her — she's right, in a way — and Zeke answers for me. "She stood up for her friend: a Candor, obviously. Their mouths get them into more trouble than we can get them out of. Anyways, the guy who was teasing her was a bully, and he didn't like it when Beatrice here talked back to him. He socked her in the nose, and she hit her head on the floor and collapsed."

Everyone sobers up. The Dauntless take bullying very seriously; they are the Protectors, and they don't like it when people prey on those who can't defend themselves. The respect in their eyes doubles.

One guy who looks to be almost seventeen, the older end of the initiates this year, pounds his fist against his chest twice and holds it out in the air. He says in his strong voice: "We believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another."

"We believe," says everyone around the table like an echo, Zeke's voice the loudest in my ear. My heart swells, and for a moment I feel like I am already part of the faction. For a moment, I forget that I must spend another two years in purgatory. I remember why I started training in the first place, how I felt in that hospital room all those years ago that inspired me.

My eyes shine. "Thank you," I whisper, my voice quiet but firm, unwavering. Then, I remember why I came in the first place. "Not that I don't love being here, but I did come for a reason. Ezekiel, will you…" I motion with my head towards the hallway, and he nods.

"Wow, my full name. She's bringing out the big guns, guys. This must be important," he jokes, eliciting a chorus of laughter that follows us into the adjoining hall. As we round the corner, well out of earshot, I grab Zeke and pull him into a hug. Surprised, he hesitates for a moment before wrapping his arms around me and resting his chin against the top of my head.

"Hey," he says soothingly. "You okay, little sis?"

I begin to speak when I am cut off by a woman on the other end of the room, announcing that the test are about to begin. Two Amity boys whose names I have never heard are called in first.

"I'll talk quickly," I say, and he nods. I look around for a moment, making sure that we are alone. When I raise my head, my eyes meet his, serious. "It's about Tobias. Have you seen him?"

"He's still not coming to school, Tris," he answers, shaking his head. " _Homeschool_ , Marcus is calling it. Sick bastard. I still think we should've… when we had the chance…" He trails off, his fingers finding the spot along his abdomen where a thick scar outlines the place where Marcus jammed a dagger into him. I remember how guilty I felt when he woke up, and how he made me feel better by smiling and telling me that he was the first of his friends to get a battle scar, how jealous they would be.

"I know," I reply. "Me too. But he's stronger than us in every way. Besides, tomorrow… tomorrow will be the last day that Tobias will have to suffer."

"He's transferring?" Zeke exclaims, shocked. Why is he surprised?

My eyebrows furrow. "We've been training for this for years, Zeke. It's finally happening."

"It's just…" He hesitates. "It's just that the last time I saw him, he said that he was going to stay."

"What?" I cry out, clenching Zeke's t-shirt between my fists. "He can't stay! You know he can't! I know it, and he knows it, so why is he staying?"

An unreadable expression spreads across his face. "Look, Tris—"

"Where is he?" I interrupt.

"I already told you, he doesn't come to school…"

"Today is the Aptitude Test, Zeke," I explain. " _Everyone_ has to take the test. Which means he's around here, somewhere."

Zeke begins to speak, when he is cut off by the tester lady. "Ezekiel Pedrad, Dauntless."

"Go, Zeke," I tell him, nuzzling my head against his chest. "Go, and I will find Tobias." We hold each other for a moment, and I realize that this might be the last time we see each other. Zeke is like my older brother, filling the void in my heart where Caleb used to be. Hesitantly, he nods and breaks away from me, giving me one last kiss on the forehead before jogging over to the table, bumping fists with his friends, and marching towards the impatient looking Candor lady.

Ignoring the tightness in my chest, I turn on my heels and dash from the lunch room as the volunteer calls out for an Eric someone, poking my head into every nook and cranny along the halls. Groaning in frustration, I rest my back against the wall of an adjacent hallway when I don't find him anywhere, burying my head in my hands.

A beep resounds in the empty hall, followed by another, and then the sound of whooshing air and a smack against a hard surface. Standing rigid, my gaze falls to a machine in the corner filled with colourful plastic packages and a head of brown hair crouching in front of it. The boy straightens and turns to face me after digging the prize out of the compartment at the bottom.

Tobias waves his candy bar in the air. I notice that it is plain oats, Abnegation food, even when he could have had anything from the machine. "Breakfast," he says, picking at the wrapper. His voice is deeper, low and breathy, and makes something in the pit of my stomach light with electricity. He cocks his head, eyes boring into mine. "Yum."

"No toast this morning?"

His face hardens. "No, not today," he replies, fist tightening around the bar. He stares at me, unmasked. "Nice to see you, Beatrice."

My eyes flit across his face; it is sharper than it used to be, full of angles and edges. His lips have grown fuller, pink, and his nose is wide and strong. A smile hints at the corners of my mouth as his familiar pointy ears twitch, but I straighten it out. Our eyes meet, blue on blue, the different shades of the ocean we will never see the end of. My breath catches in my throat; the sight of him affects me like it does to no other, because it is Tobias inside that body of his. I am the only one who knows Tobias enough to feel this way for him.

It seems that he is real. Over the last few years, I almost started to believe that I had dreamed him up, but there was never a chance I could create someone so complex. He is not perfect — he never was — and that is how I know that he is real, that he is not a figment of my imagination.

Still, it is hard.

"You too," I reply, leaning back against the wall. He follows my movements with hawk-like attention, eyes lingering on where my back meets the plaster. "It's been a while, Tobias."

His eyes shoot up to mine, pleading me to forgive him; it is only a flash of emotion, and then it is gone. He looks away. "You're still beautiful, I see."

An angry blush rises to my cheeks. "Don't patronize me."

"I wasn't," he replies. I look away. He continues, "It certainly has been long. I would have visited but I've been… _preoccupied_. Besides, I wasn't sure if you would want to see me."

"Neither was I." _But now I am._ "Nevertheless, it's nice to see you."

He blinks once, twice, and a crooked smile breaks out on his thick lips as he saunters towards me. "You said that already." I blush deeper, and he eyes me curiously. His fingers rise gently to my cheeks and then fall, a ghost of a touch that leaves the skin burning without any contact, and his gaze lingers on the rouge in my face. "You've changed."

"Of course I have," I snap. "It's been three years since I've seen you, Tobias!"

"It may have been three years since you saw me, Tris, but it hasn't been so long for me," he says. I falter. What does that mean? "I came every night for months after… after my birthday, no matter what else happened that night. I stood at the foot of your window and listened."

"Listen for what?"

He clenches his jaw. "Bea—"

"Screams," I realize. "You were listening for screams."

"And I never heard them," he says, the lump in his throat bobbing. "So, after all those months, I stopped coming, because I knew you were safe." His shoulders relax as he finishes his retelling, and for a moment, I consider lying to him. Not telling him the truth. But he trusted me with his secret once, so I understand that lying to him is just me telling him that I don't trust him anymore, that I don't care for him, that I don't… love him.

"I was quiet," I say. "The screams…"

"What?" he whispers, pain spilling into his voice. "Oh, Bea, tell me I heard that wrong. Tell me that Andrew never laid a finger on you. Tell me that I didn't fail you."

I don't answer. I can't even tell Tobias that he didn't fail me, because he did. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push away the image of my mother, shirt quickly soaking with blood, Tobias holding a gun just feet away from her.

As much as I want to go back to how things were, I know that we never can. As much as I want to… I know that I can never forgive him.

I think that he knows that, too.

"You're not staying in Abnegation," I tell him. He shakes his head.

"I am," he replies. "I'm too cowardly to leave." But he wants to leave. He needs to. He just needs a little push.

I take a deep breath. "You're going to leave," I tell him. "Because I don't want you here anymore."

His face contorts. First it is shocked, then confused, then heart-broken. It stays that way. "Look, Bea, it's only two years—"

"Tobias."

"If I leave, then—"

I shake my head. "Go. Take your Aptitude Test, and remember what Mama told us about… you know. And then _go."_ Both of us understand what I am telling him to do with that simple command. Maybe it would be funny to someone watching — a little girl ordering around a soon-to-be initiate. But I am not a little girl anymore; I have long since grown. And Tobias will be an initiate tomorrow — a Dauntless initiate.

Swallowing loudly, he turns and starts in the direction of the lunch room. Then he stops and turns back to me. "Will you follow?" he asks.

I hesitate as my eyes meet his. I answer, "Not today, Tobias. Maybe not even tomorrow." Before I can see his reaction, he turns and walks away.

As his frame, large yet crushed, powerless, disappears around the corner, a sinking feeling settles into my chest that I may never see him again. It's the feeling that we will never smile together again, never be so close that we share warmth between us, and suddenly those seven years we spent together are just too big a loss, too heavy a burden for my small, bruised shoulders to carry; I cry into my dry, cracked palms, ears ringing with the sound of cold air swirling through the vending machine.

* * *

Breathing hotly from my mouth, I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a small sob in a moment of weakness. It hurts; everything hurts. By now I know better than to think that I'm dying, but it still feels like it. Every damn time.

With trembling fingers, I grasp my bare thigh, pressing against the sides of the wound, and my fingers soak with blood. Robotically, I prepare the wound and pick up my tool, wincing as the cold metal touches my hot skin, pulsing as my heart pounds in my chest, reverberating through my entire body.

As the needle pierces my flesh, I swallow down a loud scream. Tears stream down my burning cheeks, and I move quickly and purposefully, stitching myself up. Pressure builds, and for a moment I think that I will explode. My toes throb.

My breathing is haggard, resembling the hiss of a predatory snake, and the back of my throat blocks itself off. When I am finished, I collapse onto my bed, lying in a puddle of my own blood, still warm.

Snores fill the house, guiltless and carefree. I clench my teeth. Right now, I want nothing more than to fall into a dreamless sleep, but if I try, I will be plagued by nightmares.

I stand, pain shooting up and down my leg, and limp through the room and down the stairs. I take each step slowly, leaning on the railing for support, careful not to pop a stitch.

The front door is blocked with the deadbolt; I can open it from inside, but the alarm will go off. If I make a break for it, he probably won't catch me. But I will have to come back. I always have to come back, and there is always punishment. My leg throbs rebelliously; this was my punishment for waking up Andrew in the morning.

Full of dread, I make my way over to the living room window and push apart the curtains. Behind them, the glass is shattered to no repair, sharp enough to cut me to shreds.

I jump through, feeling my skin tear, and cry out in pain. Clamping my hand over my mouth, I wait. The snores continue. I didn't wake him. Feeling liberated, I limp away from the house and through the grey streets. It must be an odd sight: a small Abnegation girl wearing only a large shirt with bloody legs and a bandaged thigh. I must look deranged, or dangerous, or something of the sort.

Marching forward, I reach my destination after what feels like hours: the factionless sector. I am careful to keep away from those I know: Anna, Thea, and some others they have introduced me to. They don't know my secret. I round the corner into an alleyway abandoned even by them, the abandoned themselves.

There he is, an old man hunched against the brick walls in the dark of midnight. Deep green eyes shine up at me through the black, one of them white and hazy with blindness. His ancient skin is shrivelled like an almond, a paper crane folding in on itself, and it is yellow with disease; his sloppy, knotted beard rests against his sunken ribs, caked in dirt and sweat. It is a wonder that the old man is still alive. It is a miracle. The scar along the right side of his face smiles at me, beckoning me towards him. I follow, dropping down beside him and burying my face in his neck.

"Thomas," I whisper like a whiny child, letting the pain seep into my voice. "He hurt me again."

His weak arms wrap around me. "I know he did."

"Is Tobias okay?"

He hesitates. "I don't know, sweetheart. He hasn't come since… I haven't seen Tobias since your mother salvaged him." If today is his last day in Abnegation, Tobias will surely get a parting gift from his father. I wince, and so does he.

"Why did you come back, Thomas?" I ask, leaning against the bricks. "How did you even find me? We… we searched for you for years."

"I watched over you and Tobias." Yes, I remember Thea telling us that she saw him in the forest. "You never found me because I didn't want to be found."

"But you came back."

"When you needed me to," he says.

My breathing evens out. "Why did you love Tobias?"

He grins, showing a row of missing teeth. "He's my family, Beatrice."

"Hmm?" My voice is weak, tired, and I feel myself drifting. As the sounds of the night disappear to me, I close my eyes. I remember when I found Tobias here, and how easily he fell asleep in my arms. I know now that while he fell asleep in seconds, there was horror behind his eyelids.

 _"_ _Do not be blinded by love," Thomas says, not unkindly but firmly, "or you will make the same mistake that my daughter did. Take care of yourself and your daughter, and now Tobias."_

The same mistake that his daughter did…

 _Evelyn_ , I think as I fade out of consciousness. _Evelyn is Thomas' daughter. She made the mistake of loving Marcus. That means… Thomas is Tobias' grandfather_. _That is why he watches over us._

"Someday," Thomas continues, lulling me to sleep, "you will be my family, too." I want to ask Thomas if it's true, if he really is Tobias' grandfather, but… I fade.

When I wake in the morning to the harsh, blinding light of the yellow sun, the space beside me is cold and empty, the brick walls stained red from years of being painted with blood. I wonder if they were made red, or if they started out white and we ruined them.

I never see Thomas again.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Tobias' old sweatshirt doesn't smell like him anymore. Hasn't in years. The comforting scent of oak moss and orange blossom mingling with sweat from training that used to cling to the fabric has long since faded. Now, it smells like blood and tears. Both of which belonged to me.

I curl up on his bed. It is bare of sheets, pillows, anythings soft to cushion my battered back. Still, it gives me more comfort than my own bed just down the hall. My room is a dark place, and not only because of the boarded-up windows that are a specialty of this house. This room, however, still rings with the hollow laughter of my childhood with my brother and my best friend. One is dead. Both are gone.

Holding the sweatshirt to my nose, I climb out of Tobias' bed and into Caleb's. It's been so long since I lost my brother that I can't even remember the sound of his voice. At this point, I would even welcome the memory of his angriest face as he raised his fist to me.

The only memory I have of him is the day we returned home to find him dead on the ground, tongue hanging out from his lips, shirt drenched in blood. In my memory, flies buzz around him, biting at his quickly rotting flesh. In truth, that didn't happen. In my mind, it did.

I still don't know who killed my brother, or why.

Sigh. I breathe in the dusty air around me and shut myself away from the world. The locked door comforts me, the only lock that my father forgot to remove. Accompanied by the music of the birds, the sun drifts through the only open window in the house, and I soak it up, despite the heat that sets my body on fire. It is blissful, despite the pain. It seems that pain has even infiltrated my paradise.

The door hits the ground with a loud, and the birds all fly away, to somewhere safer, somewhere far away. As his fists close around my shirt, lifting me up, I wish desperately that I had wings. Before I can see his face, I squeeze my eyes shut. I don't wish to see his face.

The dark figure drops me, and I scramble to my feet. "This room is off-limits, bitch," he snarls, the sound demonic to my blind ears.

Anger wells up inside of me. This room is _mine._ "Woof," I reply mockingly. Then pain shoots through my face and I turn and spit, blood coating the carpet. He shakes out his hand, knuckles split.

"Hmm," he hums. "That's the same spot on the carpet your mother had to replace, is it not? I suppose it's symbolic or some crap like that, the siblings and their blood bond."

"There's a bruise on my face," I respond, startling him. "Today is my aptitude test, which means I have to go to school. You're screwed, Andrew."

He scowls. "No one would believe you, child. I am in no danger."

"And if they did?"

"They would be _gone._ "

I scoff. "As if."

"It's already happened, my darling," he drawls. "Did you never wonder what happened to your buddy? The old man?"

"Thomas," I breathe. "What did you do to him?"

"He didn't have much time left, anyways," Andrew replies, turning his back to me. In a way, it sounds like he is defending his actions. Like he is pleading with me to understand. But then he turns around, and his face is stone hard and bloodthirsty and his fists are raised again.

His fingers close around my throat, and I close my eyes, thrashing desperately against his grip. As spots cloud my vision, my mind only becomes clearer, running wild with thoughts and ideas, connecting pieces and putting things together. _Thomas is dead. Andrew killed him._ A pause. _How did he know that Caleb died in this exact spot?_ Another. _I hadn't wanted to believe it, but…_

I am suffocating. _Andrew must have. He must have…_ I can't breathe.

He drops me, and I crash to the floor, hitting my head on the side of Caleb's desk. I raise my fingers to my scalp, touching something wet. My vision blurs, and the foggy image of Andrew shutting the blinds registers in my mind. The lights breaks around him, casting him in a dark shadow. He turns, glaring, as I cough, grasping at my throat, clawing, trying to tear away the pain.

Stalking towards me, he stops at my head, staring down menacingly. "Wear a turtleneck to school," he says, crouching beside me and caressing my hair. Pain shoots through my scalp. "Or a parka."

"It's 90 degrees out," I croak.

"Well," he drawls, stroking my cheek with his long finger. "It won't matter. You're very fond of that coat of yours. Take it for a spin." His nostrils flare like a bull's. "I doubt you'd want anyone to see what's under it."

He kicks my abdomen with his steel-toed boots, and a crack resounds through the room. Red floods my vision, and the last thing I think is that I should never have stopped training for Dauntless.

Luckily for me, it's never too late to be brave.

* * *

Uriah picks at his lunch. Christina picks at her nails. I watch the both of them without speaking, allowing the rest of the room's noise to fill our bubble of silence. It's easy to tell who will stay and who will leave their home faction today.

"From Amity: Danielle Pohler and Lark Danvers." As they rise, I notice the beaming smile on the girl's face. She will stay. But the boy is solemn, fists clenched, haunted by something unseen by the rest of us as he walks into the room. None of us know what will happen to him in there. Or to us.

"Sucks to go first," Uriah mutters as the doors shut behind the two.

"Like they care that they're going first," Christina snipes. "A pair of banjo strummin' hippies…"

"Christina!" I chide. She offers a half-hearted apology. I want to be angry with her, but I understand why she's upset, so I sigh and let it go, telling her not to do it again. I'm not fond of the Amity, but I know what it's like to be called names.

We sit in silence for another moment, until the boy and girl emerge from the rooms and the next pair are called in. As he sits back down, I notice the subtle smile on his face, and how light his shoulders look. I wonder what he got on the test. I wonder what he's just been through. I notice his fingers close around some invisible thing in the air under the table, like the handle of a sword.

"Did your brother tell you anything about the test?" Christina asks. Uriah shakes his head adamantly.

"Not a thing. Hey, it doesn't matter anyways. I know I'm staying in Dauntless."

"Yeah," she replies weakly, "it doesn't matter. I love Candor, and there's nothing I hate more than liars. That's that."

"No, it's not," I reply quietly. "Just because you love Candor doesn't mean you have to stay."

"Aren't you? Staying, I mean?" Christina asks. Uriah turns to me, listening. He knows I stopped training, and he wants to know why. Every time he's tried asking, I've shut him down.

"I… I am," I say under my breath. My resolve is to stay. I am not strong enough for Dauntless anymore, not after years of being torn down. Now, I am a weakling, a fragile, breakable little girl. I would never survive as a warrior.

Christina sighs, defeated. Uriah looks heartbroken, and my chest tightens. Suddenly, I feel the need to explain, but I can't. So I try to help Christina.

"Chrissy, do you remember my… my mother?" Her lips part in shock, but she nods. I never talk about my family. Ever. "I… I want to tell you a story about her."

"Please," she replies, eyes shining. Uriah's eyes are wet with tears as well. They know how hard it is for me to talk about her, and so me telling them this shows them how much I care.

I take a deep breath. "It was… the day we met, Christina, when we were seven years old. I was upset because my brother… yelled at me. And I was crying on my bed, when my mother came in and sat with me and told me that she understood that I felt like my childhood was empty, joyless, that everything other children had was taken away from me. That she couldn't relate, but she understood…"

"Your mother wasn't Abnegation-born?"

"No, she was Dauntless." A smile spreads across my lips as I remember her in black clothing, throwing a knife that arched perfectly and stuck into the center of her target.

"Her mother was a badass," Uriah interrupts. I shake my head at him, smiling slightly.

"I suppose she was. Anyway, we read the manifesto together and she told me that she supported me, that I was free to choose my own path and that I didn't have to follow in hers. Then she took me out, and we distributed supplies to the factionless for hours. It's gracious work, honourable. She showed me that Abnegation is not just grey colours and good behaviour. Still, she always let me decide who I was." I soften, remembering that day, that monumental day. The day I met Tobias and his whole life changed. _My_ whole life changed.

"That's great Beatrice, but not everyone is as lucky as you," Christina spits. Then she realizes what she's said, and her eyes widen, and just as she's about to speak, they call her in for the test. "I… I'm sorry." She walks away, through the doors of uncertainty and fear, without looking back.

"She didn't mean it," Uriah says.

"I know she didn't," I reply. "She's just anxious. Afraid. I'm sure she feels like she's been lying to her family her whole life."

"There's nothing she hates more than liars," he echoes her previous words.

After a moment, I speak. "So are you—"

"Why?" he interrupts suddenly. "Why did you tell her that you're staying in Abnegation?"

"Because I am!" I cry out, quietly so that no one can hear us.

"What the hell? You trained for _four years_ , Tris. Four years! Now you're just going to throw that all away? Because of what?"

"It's.. it's not…"

"It's not what?" he screams. Everyone turns to look at us. He narrows his eyes and barks, "There's nothing to see here." At that, everyone continues their conversations — he can be scary when he wants to — and Uriah drags me out of the room and into the hallway where no one can hear us. The same hallway where I spoke to his brother exactly two years ago.

He turns to me and says, softer, "It's not what?"

"It's not the same. Without my mother. Without… Tobias."

"You told him to go!"

"I know I did! I know! And I don't regret it, I never have, because he is where he was meant to be."

He melts against the wall, pinching the spot between his eyebrows like an old man. "He thinks you told him to go because you hate him."

I cross my arms over my chest and grit my teeth. "I do."

"No, you don't," Uriah says. "You don't hate Tobias. You could never hate him. You don't want to admit it because of what he did, but you love—"

"I hate him, Uriah! I hate him! I hate Tobias so much…" I scream, tears streaming down my face. Something snaps inside of me. My body shakes with sobs, and my voice trembles, and when Uriah pulls me to his chest I pound against his shirt with my fists. Pain flares through my abdomen, but I ignore it. All I know is pain. Can you feel my pain?

"This is why!" I cry out. "This is why I have to stay here! I'm too weak for Dauntless, Uriah!"

"You can train—"

"No, in my head. My head is too weak. My mind, my heart… All I do is cry…"

Suddenly, Uriah is drowning in laughter. I pull away like he's burned me. Does he think I'm pathetic? I wouldn't blame him. "That's why? That's ridiculous!" He stops laughing when he sees my face. "Oh, no. No, I'm not laughing _at_ you. Just- listen, okay?"

I nod, and he continues. "You have lost everything. _Everything._ Your best friend betrayed you in an unimaginable way. You lost your brother, your mother…" _My father, Thomas…_ "And I have a feeling that you've been through more, more than you've told me."

"Thanks for laying it all out there, Uriah. I feel so much better," I reply, tone dripping with sarcasm. Shaking my head, I turn to leave; he grabs me, spins me around, and firmly holds my arms.

"If I had gone through half of that, I wouldn't have the strength to get out of bed in the morning. You do, and you still smile, still laugh, through all of that pain. That's how I know that you are strong, and brave, and perfect for Dauntless."

I wipe away my tears, training my gaze on the floor. Light glances off the marble, and the familiar rumble of the vending machine fills my head. He lifts my chin. "And crying, Tris, does not make you weak. Let's think of it as… expelling the weakness from your body. In the… form of tears. Yeah, that's what I was going to say."

Rolling my eyes, I let out a small laugh. "So you're saying I'm not a pansycake?"

His eyes widen excitedly, and he does a jig. "Yes! I brought it back! Take that Ezekiel!" Then he stops. "And, for the record, you are _not_ a pansycake, Tris Prior. You're the opposite. A… fearless pie."

I raise my eyebrows. "A fearless pie?"

He nods firmly. "Yup, because fearless is the opposite of pansy."

"And pie is the opposite of cake?"

"That is correct."

I laugh, wiping the last tears from my cheeks. "And you say _I'm_ the ridiculous one."

He sobers. "Tris, you are going to make it to Dauntless, I promise. But… when you do, please don't shut Tobias out."

"Uriah—"

"Please, for me. No, for him. Because you don't hate him, no matter what you say, even after what he did."

"He killed my mother, Uriah." Tears fill my eyes again, but not because I am crying. No, I'm done with crying. Forever. This time, it is because I will not shut my eyes, because I cower from the monsters that hide behind my eyelids. Because I am a coward.

"You know he was aiming for Marcus," he replies.

"It doesn't matter."

"Would you… still have been upset with him? If he killed Marcus?"

"I don't give a shit whether or not Marcus Eaton lives." I scoff. "Actually, that's a lie. I would prefer if he dropped dead right now."

Uriah sighs. "It was Tobias' first time firing a gun."

"He couldn't have practiced on somebody else? He killed my mother, Uriah! My mother! "

"I know, I know. It's hard, still hard, and she's gone. But he didn't mean to, Tris. He has a good heart. Please, even if you can't forgive him, don't hate him."

I fold my lips together. "You were right. I could never hate Tobias. But I still don't know if I can forgive him, Uriah."

"That's… okay, for now. I think he will accept that, too. As long as you're happy, as long as you're where you belong, Tobias will accept that."

"Because he loves me?"

He smiles. "Yes, Tris. Because he loves you."

"URIAH PEDRAD!" It's faint, but the voice reaches us — the Candor lady who runs the tests. I realize that we have been gone from the room for too long, and that Uriah's turn has arrived. I wanted to tell him what Mama told Tobias and me, because I suspect Uriah is divergent, but I have run out of time. I can only hope that I am wrong.

"I'm guessing that she's called your name more than once," I tell him, pushing him towards the room. "Go, and be careful." He nods, doesn't ask me what could possibly be dangerous in a test. He knows something, at least that what happens today will change his life.

 _Please, don't let Uriah be divergent._

For a moment, I watch him disappear down the hall, and I am reminded of the last time I saw Tobias, two years ago today. His body appears in my mind, and I remember his touch, his fingers around mine, his laugh and smile. I could see him tomorrow if I tried… if I choose Dauntless. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that there is a possibility that he's not even there — Uriah never talks about him, how he's doing, and I never asked. It's entirely possible that he flunked initiation or left, but he is stronger than that. He is the strongest person I know.

I slip through the bathroom doors, splashing some cold water on my face to hide my red and puffy eyes and the tear stains on my cheeks. The harsh bruise that my father left on my this morning glares back, and I pat my face dry before pulling out the concealer that Christina gifted to me for my fifteenth birthday. _Because you're so clumsy_ , she'd said. _No one wants to walk around all black and blue._

After applying it generously, I return to the cafeteria, noticing that Christina isn't there. Sliding into the seat beside Susan and Robert, I ask them where she has gone. "She felt sick so she went home early," Susan replies. "She told me to tell you and Uriah that she's fine and she'll see you tomorrow."

"Thank you," I reply. For the next half hour, I listen to her and Robert talk about random things. Susan avoids looking at me, even when we speak, and I think that it's because I remind her of Caleb. Neither Robert nor I call her out on it.

"From Abnegation: Susan Black and Beatrice Prior." As we stand up, I feel a slight pressure on my hand, and then it's gone. Without looking back, Susan makes her way to the front of the room. I almost doubt that it happened, but it did… she squeezed my hand. As I follow her, I realize how hard it must have been for her, and a grateful smile pulls at my lips.

Before entering the room, I take a deep breath and brace myself for whatever could be awaiting. The doors open, and I step inside.

* * *

The moment that the simulation serum takes effect, my heart sinks into my toes. When I open my eyes, I am in the cafeteria, but there are no tables or chairs or large crowds of dependants separated by faction. Through the large window on the far side of the room, the one that takes up almost the entire wall, I see snow drifting gently onto the pavement outside.

I know it's a simulation as soon as I open my eyes. Which could only mean…

I am divergent.

There was a chance that I wouldn't be, a small chance, but the odds were not in my favour. Still, the one person who crosses my mind is Tobias. If he did this same test, if he knew as soon as he opened his eyes, if he's even divergent himself…

In front of me is a table holding two baskets, one of a hunk of cheese and the other a knife. Behind me, I hear a woman say, "Choose."

Suddenly, in one horrific, life-changing moment, I realize that Mama never told me how to hide my divergence during the Aptitude Test. We spoke about the Dauntless simulations, how to conquer fears like a Dauntless would, but never about today, about what to choose.

"Choose!" she yells. In a panic, I try to think logically and assess the options. I grab blindly, but my hands go through the table, and it disappears.

Forget Andrew, I'm the one who's screwed.

* * *

"That was… perplexing," Tori says as she types something into her computer. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Excuse me, I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" I ask her, averting my eyes. I still feel guilty from the last part of the simulation. Then I realize that she probably knows that I'm divergent, and for a moment I think she might be going to get someone to kill me on the spot.

"Just… out for a moment," she says. "I have something I need to do."

"Don't," I plead quietly. She stops in her tracks. "Please. I haven't done anything wrong."

"Beatrice?"

"Please don't tell them."

Wide, her eyes shimmer in the fluorescent lighting overhead. "What are you talking about, Beatrice?" I hesitate, realizing that I shouldn't be the one to say it. She could be clueless. But she's administering the test, so that is unlikely. Why hasn't she killed me yet, if I'm so dangerous?

I sigh. "I'm divergent, right? That's why you won't tell me what my result is?"

"Wh… what? How do you—"

"My mother told me. She's dead. Please answer the question."

Tori swallows loudly and runs her hand through her hair. "Geez. Alright, um… yes, you received three aptitudes. Typically, each stage of the simulation eliminates one or more of the factions, but in your case, only two have been ruled out."

"I have an aptitude for three factions?"

"Yes, it's pretty much unheard of. By refusing to choose, you eliminated both the Amity and Dauntless lines which would have further confirmed or ruled out that particular faction. So I manually put you into the stage with the man who needed help… where I could have confirmed either Candor or… Abnegation."

"Then I'm not Abnegation? Because I lied to the man?"

"Not exactly. When the man told you that the truth would save him, you still refused to tell it. Not an Abnegation-oriented response. But, when you threw yourself on the dog rather than let it attack the little girl, you displayed an Abnegation-oriented response. Not running from the dog suggests Dauntless, but so does taking the knife, which you didn't do."

"So which is it? Yes or no?"

She hesitates. "Your intelligent response to the dog indicates strong alignment with the Erudite. I have no idea what to make of your indecision in stage one, but—"

"Tori! Am I Abnegation or not?"

"Yes." She pauses, as if to assess my reaction. I keep my face emotionless. "My conclusion is that you display equal aptitude for Abnegation, Dauntless, and Erudite." I sigh in relief — Dauntless! "I've erased the results to prevent any detection. I assume you know about the dangers of being… you know. But you do need a result so I'm going to manually enter Abnegation into the system so whoever checks—"

"No," I interrupt. "Don't enter Abnegation. Enter Dauntless."

She freezes. "Beatrice—"

"Tris."

She clears her throat. " _Tris_ , that's not a good idea."

"Why? I'll be choosing Dauntless tomorrow. It will look less suspicious if I have an aptitude of Dauntless, will it not?"

"I guess, but Dauntless is not safe for people like you."

"I'm tough," I tell her, rubbing the back of my neck. Her eyes fall to my collar, where my shirt has dropped. I pull it back up, praying she doesn't see the finger-shaped bruises, think I'm weak, and refuse to enter Dauntless as my result.

Her gaze locks on mine, and there is fire in her eyes. "It seems that you are tougher than you look, Tris Prior." She turns her computer to face me, and I watch as she enters Dauntless beside my name. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Christina's name with the same result beside it.

"You should head home," Tori tells me. "If anyone asks, the serum made you sick. That's why I had to manually enter your result. Don't speak of what happened here to anyone."

I nod and make for the door. "I've got to tell my friend Uriah where I'm going first."

"Pedrad? You won't find him out there. I… sent him home a while ago."

My heart sinks further. I had a feeling, but this is confirmation. Uriah is divergent, like me, probably like Tobias. "I'll see him tomorrow, anyways." I extend my hand to her, the Dauntless greeting and farewell. She takes it, and I shake firmly like my mother taught me. "Thank you, Tori. Goodbye."

"See you soon, Tris."

* * *

Water rushes, spraying me, soaking my training clothes and washing the sweat off me. I crouch by the stream, collecting handfuls and splashing my face in the cool liquid. Standing upright, I grab another knife and throw, sticking straight in the center of the target.

Just like riding a bike.

My grey robe and tights are discarded in the corner of the cave, sheltered from the running waterfall, and I am liberated in my black training gear once again. Set up around the cave are wooden targets for knife throwing, punching bags for combat, weights for muscle building, and an untouched gun station.

Tobias set this place up five years ago after we stopped training in my backyard. He invited me every day to train with him, but I never did. Today, I am making up for lost time. Today, I am pushing my body to the limits.

As I rest on the black rocks, I eye the gun station. There is only one weapon resting on the table a few feet from the targets. I realize as I stare at the pristine targets that even Tobias never touched the thing, save from getting it here.

It's the gun he used to kill my mother.

I don't know why, but I pick it up. Visions flash in my eyes — Zeke lying on the ground, Tobias lifting the gun, my mother's grey shirt soaking with blood, everything going black. But I don't drop the gun; instead, I lift it clumsily to the target, click a bullet into place, and fire. I miss the target entirely, and I don't even see where it hits as I am knocked to the ground from the kickback.

It's easier to see now how Tobias missed his target.

I abandon the gun station after that, leaving the gun on the floor of the cave. I don't fall easily into my old workout routine — my muscles have grown weak, and my body is injured in many places. But with a newfound determination, I work harder I ever have. Once my hair is glued to my forehead with sweat, I decide to call it a night.

As I lean over the stream, I see that it has calmed over the last few hours. Amazing. It's never been this calm before. The water flows cleanly, showing an uninterrupted reflection of my face, and it is the second time today that I see myself. The second time in many years.

"I will become my undoing if I become my obsession," I whisper, gazing at the way my lips form the words. "I will forget the ones I love If I do not serve them. I will war with others If I refuse to see them. Therefore I choose to turn away from my reflection, to rely not on myself but on my brothers and sisters, to project always outward until I disappear."

But I do not turn away from my reflection. Instead, I examine myself. Finally, I see that my nose is too long, that my eyes are practically the size of my fist, and I realize; I am no longer a kid. The chubbiness has disappeared from my cheeks, the innocence from my eyes.

Somehow, the words don't feel right coming from me anymore. The Abnegation manifesto no longer suits me — I wonder if it ever did. So instead, I reach into my pocket and pull out a black stone, the Dauntless stone, and say, "I believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another."

Those words feel right.

In that moment, I know that it's true. I am Abnegation, I am Erudite, but I am meant for Dauntless. Tomorrow, I will not be Beatrice Prior anymore.

I will be Tris.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Are you excited?" Thea asks as her fingers expertly braid my hair. The sharp gravel digs into my thighs as I shift, and I nod lightly. Her eyes shine with glee, and she rambles on about the Choosing Ceremony and the factions with an enthusiasm I could never match, if only because I take my dependancy for granted.

She sighs heartily. "If the factionless could choose, I would go wherever Toby is so I could see him again."

"He still hasn't come to see you?"

"Not since he left Abnegation. I thought he would. I thought he cared about me."

"He does," I reassure her. "He loves you, Angel." She smiles at the nickname he gave to her. It's fitting, really; at fifteen years old, her skin glows against her black hair, radiating warmth, sincerity, love, and her large, blue eyes are almost unchanged from when she was six, still innocent despite the hardships she's been through. I scoot back against the brick wall, and she lays her head in my lap, letting me run my fingers through her dirty, knotted hair as she rests.

After a moment's silence passes, she opens her eyes. "Where do you think I would end up if I could choose?"

My heart feels heavy in my chest as I am reminded that she will be here forever, alone and factionless, nowhere to call home. It hurts me to break her hopes but it will only be more painful this time next year if she doesn't make peace with her reality. "Sweetheart, you know you shouldn't think like that."

"I know," she replies, dejected, "but I can't help it. I've never known anything other than this, than factionless, but I just want the same chance everyone else has, you know?"

"It's not fair. I wish you could come with me," I whisper helplessly. "I wish I could pack you in a bag and take you with me to Dauntless."

She laughs. "I'd probably fit in the bag." It's true — for a fifteen year old, her underfed, malnourished body is small enough. Then she realizes what I've unintentionally revealed to her. "Dauntless?"

I nod. "That's where Tobias is, too. At least, I think so."

"I haven't seen him around here, if that's what you're thinking."

"I didn't…" Shaking my head, I stare up at the cloudless sky. "Sorry."

"He's fine, Tris. You know him. He's strong. You are, too."

"Dauntless is no joke," I muse, imagining the blood and sweat the place must smell of. In that way, it will be no different from here. But it will be free, unrestrained, and in that way, it will be worlds different.

"I miss you already," she tells me, shifting in my lap and closing her eyes. "Mom will, too."

"I'll visit."

"No, don't," she replies ardently, startling me. "Stiffs visit the factionless, Tris, not Dauntless. At least, unless they're beating us into submission. Either way, you can't afford to look weak. Once you leave, you don't know us."

"But you and Anna—"

"Will be okay on our own, promise. Look after yourself and Tobias, and we'll be happy." She straightens and wraps her arms around my neck; I can smell her tears, but I keep quiet.

"I love you, Thea," I whisper into her hair, struggling to keep my voice even. Her fingers dig into a new wound, and I flinch back and press my fingers to the fabric covering my collarbone; they come away red. Thea cringes away like a scolded puppy, eyes wide.

"Tris? You're bleeding…"

"What, this?" I answer dismissively, waving her off. "It's nothing. I tripped and knocked myself on the kitchen table."

Her finger pry at the shirt, pulling it back. "Okay, as someone who has seen a fair share of knife wounds, I can say with certainty that this is one. Who did this to you, Tris?"

I laugh nervously. "You caught me. I was sparring with Uriah and things got a little out of hand. It won't happen again. Really, don't worry about it."

"Why are you lying to me?"

"I'm not—"

"Tris! Don't lie to me!"

I stand angrily, tearing myself away from her. "Stop prying, Thea! I already told you, it was a fight and it escalated. That's all."

Her watery eyes burn with passion. "Why don't I believe you, then?"

"I don't know, because you don't trust people. That's not my fault. I cant do this right now, Thea. See you." I start in the opposite direction, not looking back even as she calls out my name again and again. The sun is already up, indicating that I'm a few hours later than I should be and that my father is probably already up and getting ready for the Ceremony. My footsteps quicken like my heart does when I realize what that means for me and my bruised body.

It's only two hellish hours and a roll of bandages later that I realize that I won't see Thea again, and that I've spoken my last words to the girl I gave my coat to nine years ago.

* * *

My father's fingers dig into my shoulder a little too hard as he leads me off the bus. He's smiling, but his eyes are steely grey like the robes we both don. I've always found it interesting how he can walk through the streets with me and pretend that my scars aren't his fault, that he hasn't just dragged a blade across my skin or kicked me with steel-toed boots. Becoming part of the blur of grey, we project outwards as we march as one towards the towering building known as the Hub. At least, we pretend to.

When we left the house this morning, I took one last look at my childhood home, my bedroom, my brother's, and it really hit me that I may never return to that place, sleep in that bed, eat bland oatmeal at that kitchen table if I could sneak it without Andrew noticing again. I had dressed in clothes that wouldn't restrict my movement and slipped the Dauntless stone into my pocket before leaving without looking back. I had nothing else to remember my happy memories by, not even a photograph of my mother.

Now, as we march towards the Hub, the air is suddenly electrified by the shriek of train tracks and the holler of Dauntless dependants and their families throwing themselves from moving trains, landing on their feet and running towards us in a way that makes most Abnegation flinch, but that makes my legs twitch with anticipation. Then my father's grip moves to my head, and he forcefully turns it forwards, keeping it there until we reach the steps.

He stops me. "I'll see you soon," he says pointedly, his final warning for me to stay. Maybe in a different life, these words would have made me sad, but instead they fill me with determination. Determination to leave, to make my own life, to be my own person.

"Of course, father," I answer obediently.

We have to walk up twenty flights of stairs, a feat that should tire me out but only serves as a workout for my legs which I can't help but appreciate. When we reach the top, my father stations me at the door and leaves me there, so I hold it open for thirty minutes at least, warding off the polite thank-you's with a simple nod.

I am the last person inside, and the view is breathtaking; the circular room is divided into five sections, each with its own colour, but at the base of the stage is a single line of sixteen-year-olds, organized reverse alphabetically instead of by faction. Their faction colours create something of a rainbow.

This is the kind of unity between the factions that will only last a few hours, until the last of us have chosen and we are all separated by colour again. I take my place beside a boy whose name I don't recognize.

I try not to think about the fact that it should be Caleb beside me instead of this unknown boy.

The Ceremony begins, and Marcus takes his place at the podium, my father lingering behind him like some sort of lost dog. I glower at them, willing a fire to swallow them up as suddenly as I lost my brother, or my mother, or Tobias. Instead, he gives his routine speech about the formation of our society and reads each faction manifesto, unable to hide his contempt as the Dauntless cheer loudly when their time comes.

I look anywhere but at him, deciding instead to search the room for my friends. Uriah is only a few people down from me, but Christina is near the front of the line, twiddling her thumbs nervously and playing with the tips of her short hair. I wish I could reassure her, tell her that she will make the right decision, but she's too far away. Instead, I catch Uriah's eye and give him a comforting look, mouthing _you got this_ because I know he's thinking about the fact that he's divergent (and so am I).

When the dead-boring speech is over, we all stand in unison, as though we've practiced it (which we haven't). Marcus begins calling out names, and the line moves forward like a slow train, makes the same quiet groaning as the tracks crash against the wheels. By the time Christina takes a knife from Marcus' hand, I can see the sweat glistening on her neck. I notice that she is wearing more black than white.

She slices her palm and holds her palm over the coals, welcomed to her new faction by cheers louder than anything the Candors could ever muster.

The rest of the ceremony moves on like that, with very few transfers like usual. The boy in front of me, an Erudite, stays. I don't remember much about my brother, other than he was smart. I am grateful for the boy who decided to stay, because he will live the life my brother would have.

"Beatrice Prior."

Now it's my turn.

I wonder if I should be nervous, if my stomach should be churning until it turns to butter, if my feet should feel like thousand pound weights or my hands should be sweaty; all I feel is disbelief, really, like this day is only a dream, a dream that I've been waiting for since my mother's death.

The only thing I am scared of in this moment is that I will wake up. That all changes, however, when Marcus offers me a knife.

As I take it from him, anger flares inside of me, burns like a fire, so strong that it consumes me entirely, and I have to stop myself from doing something rash (like, I don't know, killing him). I remind myself that after today, I will never have to see him again, and that Tobias is safe, and that my father will be lost without someone to beat. So I take the knife, still shaking with anger — luckily it will be construed as nerves — and cut my palm a little too deep.

Blood pools in my hand. Blood is suspended in the air. Blood sizzles on hot coals.

Gasps and shouts of protest fill the echoey room, and as I bandage the cut, the last cut of many as an Abnegation, I am free. Free with the cheers from the Dauntless, louder than anything I've ever heard. Louder than the rest, because a _Stiff_ transferring to _Dauntless_ is all but unheard of. Because the last time they had a reason to cheer this loud was two years ago for my best friend.

The defeated look on my father's face makes my heart explode with happiness. Now he has no one to break, no one to suck the life out of, no one's neck to wring between his hands. I grin, making my way over to the Dauntless, and wrap my arms around Christina, which makes them cheer even louder.

Suddenly it's Uriah's turn, and I can tell he's not even thinking about transferring and then his arms are around me as well and the crowd is deafening.

"I'm glad you changed your mind," he tells me, voice heavy with affection. "I don't know what I would have done if I lost you forever."

"Me neither, Uri," I reply, sitting down beside my two best friends. "Thank you for making me see clearly."

Christina slumps on my arm, almost like she's drained of energy. "It's over, finally. It's over."

"I know that was hard for you," I whisper comfortingly, "but all of us are where we belong now, and we're together." I realize that this decision was hard for her, too, but in a totally different way. She had to say goodbye to her family, and I had to say goodbye to myself. Goodbye to my _old_ self.

Goodbye to Beatrice.

* * *

I pull my hair from its bun, and the wind whips through it, tugging harshly at my scalp. The other transfers pant heavily behind me, but Uriah is at my side, whooping loudly like the rest of the Dauntless born. I join in, letting my laughter get carried away by the wind, feeling the tight burn in my chest from exertion that, while once unpleasant, now makes my heart quicken in a delicious way.

As we run alongside the train, slowing down in order to stay with the other initiates, I remember the first time I jumped onto one: the day my mother was killed, the pouring rain, the flashes of lightening, the gyrating metal trying to swallow me whole. Today, the sun beats down on us, our skin soaking it up graciously, and I pull myself up easily and fling myself onto the floor, taking Uriah with me. Christina pulls herself in after a moment, and the three of us sit against the wall, laughing hysterically.

"Damn, that's easier when there's no thunderstorm outside," I muse lightheartedly, leaning against Uriah's shoulder.

"I still can't believe you did that," Uriah laughs. "You were a badass even then."

"Excuse me, she did what?" Christina interrupts, utterly perplexed. I giggle at her confusion, patting her on the shoulder.

"You had to be there," he answers nonchalantly, rubbing her hair and making her complain loudly. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the only transfer from Amity, an olive-skinned boy in a brown shirt, standing too close to the door as the train picks up speed.

"Hey," I call out to him warningly. "You might want to get down before—" I'm too late, and the wind rushes through the car, knocking him down and dragging him through the door. Sprinting, I grab his arm and yank him back inside as tears stream down his cheeks.

"Thank you," he sputters loudly; I can barely hear him over the roaring wind. "You saved me."

I smile softly. "A fast train means wind. Wind means falling out. I couldn't let the only Amity transfer get crushed beneath a train. That's not very peaceful."

"How selfless of you." He laughs shakily, extending his hand. "The name's Lark."

I shake his hand. "Tris. And trust me, I'm far from selfless."

"My name's Christina!" she pipes in, making us laugh. Uriah introduces himself as well. While they talk, I look around the cart, assessing the competition. There are ten of us on the train — I could have sworn we started with eleven. I notice an Erudite girl in the corner, sniffing quietly while a large boy rubs her back, and I assume that someone she knows has already failed. Factionless. It could happen to any one of us at any moment. I close my eyes and curl up against the wall, listening to the wind die down.

"Why did you transfer to Dauntless? I mean, not a lot of Amity do," Christina questions.

"I guess from outside Amity looks like an accepting place. But they don't do well with people who are different there," he explains, resting his head on his knees. I can't help but notice how short he is.

"Different?" I repeat.

"In any way, really. Because it breaks the peace, because not everyone agrees with it, not that it's any of their business," he sighs. "My parents tried to have me kicked out of the faction."

Christina gasps. "Your parents? Why would they do that?"

"Because I'm gay," he replies simply. "Johanna wouldn't kick me out, though. Still, my parents refused to let me live with them. They never spoke to me again after that."

"That's rough," Uriah adds. Then he smiles and nudges Lark's shoulder. "Hey, rough times just make you tougher, and you'll need that here."

"I don't feel tough."

I shake my head. "Trust me, someday you will. Someday, something will happen that will make you realize how strong you really are."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"Maybe I am." I suppose it could have been my mother's death, or the first time my father took a knife to my skin, or the day I lost Tobias… but I believe that it was today. Today, I realized that I am strong.

No one needs to know about my past here. I can start over.

Breaking away from the conversation, I watch the city smear past us in blotches of colour. Now, in the calm of waiting, I allow myself to think about Tobias. His beautiful blue eyes flash in my memory, stunning as the view of the city sky from the train. His pointy ears, strong nose, wide lips… I wonder if I will see him today for the first time in two years, or if I will have to search for him. I wonder if I will ever even see him again. Even if I do, I don't expect him to be the same person he was when he left; I certainly am not.

I wrap my arms around myself, trying desperately to remember how his arms felt around me, just in case I never feel it again. I can't even find it in myself after all this time to be angry or upset with him. Now, in this new life, this chance to start over, all I want to do is feel his presence again.

After what must be around thirty minutes, the train begins to slow. Everyone has fallen into a quiet, contemplative state, leaning against the walls, head tucked into chests as the train rocks us.

The peace is broken by a loud cry. "They're jumping off!" Sure enough, the Dauntless in the cars ahead of us are leaping onto rooftops several feet away. Several stories up.

I've jumped off a train before, but never this high up. Honestly, the thought makes me want to throw up.

"Well then we have to jump off too!" says the goblin-looking Candor girl from the bathroom.

"Great, because that makes perfect sense, Molly," replies the boy who beat me up years ago. I can't remember his name. "Leap off a train onto a roof. I'd rather not be a sidewalk pancake."

"More like pansycake," Uriah mutters under his breath. I stifle a laugh.

"This is kind of what we signed up for, Peter," Molly replies.

"Well, I'm not doing it," Lark says from behind me. His cheeks shine with tears.

"You've got to, Lark," Christina says, "or you'll fail. Come on, it'll be alright!"

"I'd rather be factionless than dead!" Maybe I would have disagreed with him in another life, but I think of Thea and how alive she is and I realize that the factionless are still very much human. It's easy to forget that, sometimes. Still, I won't let Lark fail. Not like this.

From the way he trembles in his shoes and the pale sheen that coats his face, I realize he'll never do it on his own — but I won't leave him here. Because it's not weakness I see in him, it's strength.

"Hey," I coax, taking his hand. "This is it. This is the thing that will make you realize how strong you are. Because even though you're afraid, you're going to take Christina's hand and mine and we're all going to jump together. Okay?"

He nods, breathing heavily, and takes the hand that Christina offers. We all stand at the edge of the car, and as it passes the roof, I count, "One… two… _three_!"

On three, we leap from the car at the same time. For a moment, I am suspended in the air, floating, and I barely registers the scream that escapes from my own lips. Then my feet hit the ground, a crushing pain in my shin that knocks me down. Gravel under my cheek, stinging from yesterday's punch to the face from _father._

"That was awesome!" Christina shrieks, laughing hysterically, and I shake my head at her.

A wail suddenly pierces through the air, and all heads turn to the edge of the rooftop where a girl shakes with sobs. Uriah's brown eyes widen and he rushes over to her. He turns green when he looks over, then pulls her into his arms. "Rita," he says. "Rita, calm down. Rita—"

I don't look, because if I do, I know I will either throw up or cry. I just walk away, having faced enough death already. As I walk away from the edge of the roof, I roll up my sleeve to check the cuts. Silver scars dance across my arms, but in this moment, I don't care if anyone sees them. Still, I let my sleeve fall when the Candor boy makes a pointed comment that makes my cheeks burn.

"Listen up! I am Max, and I am one of the leaders of your new faction," shouts an older man at the other end of the roof. He stands on the ledge as if it's a sidewalk. As if someone didn't just fall to her death from it. "Several stories below here is the member's entrance to the compound. If you can't muster up the courage to jump, you don't belong here. As usual, initiates are extended the privilege to go first."

Silence falls upon the group, and for a moment, I am confused. How else did they expect to get off this roof? Of course they would make us jump. Besides, he just told us that the entrance is below here. I am not afraid to jump, not off a ledge that a man stands so carelessly on. There is a difference between recklessness and bravery.

"You want us to jump?" says a mousy brown haired girl, the one who was crying on the train. It seems the others don't feel the same way as I do.

"Yes," Max says. He looks amused, which only fuels my theory.

"Is there water at the bottom or something?" Peter asks, picking at his cuticles. Casual. I snort; even if there was, at this height it would be like hitting concrete.

"Who knows?" he replies cryptically. The crowd of members parts in half for the initiates, and yet no one comes forward.

I am proud. It will get me in trouble someday, but today it makes me brave. "Make sure Lark jumps," I whisper to Christina before walking towards the ledge, hearing snickers behind me. Max moves out of my way, and I hoist myself onto the ledge with the knowledge that this is just a scare tactic and I will land safely at the bottom.

Although this could be a test of blind faith, I suppose.

There is a hole in the center of the square of buildings, so deep and dark that I can't see what's at the bottom. The wind whips through my clothes almost painfully, and my teeth chatter. Quickly, I pull of my robe and hold it to my chest (despite how much I want to throw it at Peter), making sure the Dauntless stone is secure — if I'm going to die, I'm going to die holding it in my arms. Ignoring the catcalls and shouts, I close my eyes, bare arms prickling from the cold and anticipation.

I don't think. I just bend my knees and jump.

Wind and pressure surge through me as I fall. A desperate ache runs through my body, and I feel so closed-in despite free-falling from a roof. My muscles burn wildly, and my heart tightens, and for a moment I really do think I'm about to die.

I hit something hard, and I know I am going to die.

It's a net.

Nothing has ever been more painful than this. The ropes pull taut and tug at my lacerations, tearing them open with a blinding force, and an agonized scream rips through my mouth. I black out for a second, and when I awake, I am breathing heavily and tears are streaming down my cheeks and there is a bloody stinging in my ears.

Everything is silent, but only for a moment. The buzz of conversation starts again when I stir, and suddenly there are several pairs of hands stretching over the edge of the net to help me. Wiping my eyes subtly, I take the one closest to me, head reeling from the pain, and pull myself over the edge, clutching my robe to my chest. I roll off, and I would have fallen face-first onto a wood floor if Tobias had not caught me.

… _Tobias._

My mind goes blank. Nothing matters, not the pain I am in, not the fact that I just jumped from a building. Nothing. All is see are those eyes, so deep-set that his eyelashes touch the skin under his eyebrows, the same dark blue, a dreaming, sleeping, waiting colour.

But he looks sad. So sad. His fingers brush the hair out of my face.

"Put on your robe," he whispers, voice deeper than I remember it. They say the first thing you forget about a person is their voice. It makes my head spin just thinking about it.

"What?" I breathe.

"Your robe," he repeats quietly. "You're bleeding. I assume you don't want anyone to know."

"Um…" The fuzzy feeling that engulfs me begins to ebb away, and I come back to reality. We are on a ten-foot platform. I pull on my robe. "Thanks."

Tobias clears his throat and pulls away from me. Louder, he says, "What, you get pushed?"

"No," I answer dejectedly. He doesn't want to know me, here. I understand.

"Can't believe it," a voice says behind him. It's a girl with three silver rings through her right eyebrow. "A Stiff, first to jump? Unheard of."

I blink, still staring at him. He folds his lips, but they tug upwards slightly. "There's a reason why she left them, Lauren."

"Yeah, there is," I mutter softly. He tenses, taking another step back.

"What's your name?" he asks. I breathe out gently — this is the moment I've been waiting for since I was seven years old, and nothing will ruin it. Not even him.

My mother's voice rings in my head. " _You can be called whatever you want. All you have to do is wait until you are older."_

Today is the day.

"My name is Tris," I reply, smiling softly. I wonder if my mother is watching right now, wherever she is. I hope she is proud of me.

"Tris," Lauren repeats, grinning. "Make the call, Four." _Four?_ I wonder how he got that name…

Tobias looks over his shoulder and shouts, "First jumper — Tris!"

A crowd materializes in the darkness as my eyes adjust, their black clothing camouflaging them. Suddenly, the room roars. Their cheers are almost louder than the Choosing Ceremony, and they chant my name.

"Welcome to Dauntless," Tobias whispers in my ear. His message is clear — this is how it will be now. Full of cheers and energy and laughter. Full of life. Maybe there's a reason he's pretending not to know me. Maybe he wants me here like I want him.

Another whoop runs through the crowd as a brown blur falls into the net. Lark. My guess is that Christina actually pushed him, and a laugh rumbles in my chest. Lauren pulls him out of the net, which is amusing considering how small he is, and I shake my head, making my way towards the crowd of Dauntless.

As I pass Tobias, I almost don't notice how his fingers curl as his hand brushes mine.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

My eyes linger on the back of Tobias' neck as we walk through the dark pathways leading through the compound. There's some sort of tattoo peeking from the collar of his T-shirt, but I keep getting distracted by the way the fabric clings to his muscles. I don't know what the tattoo is, but I can't help but wonder who he trusted enough to let see his back. I'd always thought I was the only person he showed his scars to.

He stops abruptly, and I catch myself before I crash into him.

"This is where we divide," Lauren says. "Dauntless-born, come with me. I assume you don't need a tour of the place." They break away from the rest of the group and disappear; Uriah shrugs apologetically and drops a kiss on my forehead before joining them. I should have realized that we would be separated.

"Damn," I mutter dejectedly as he is engulfed by the shadows. "Should've seen that coming."

"This sucks," Christina whines. "I was looking forward to seeing him train shirtless." I make a face at her, and she socks me in the arm.

Lark seems deep in thought. "Are you and him together?" he asks me as we continue on our path. Tobias stiffens noticeably.

"Me and Uriah?" I say. "Not a chance. He's had a crush on Marlene since they were ten, and I…"

"You?" he prods.

"I'm…" My gaze falls on Tobias, and something stirs in the pit of my stomach. "I'm just trying to get through initiation."

Christina giggles. "I've got my eyes on tall, dark, and Erudite up there."

I shake my head and exchange looks with Lark. "Christina will be Christina. Anyway, what about you?"

"Me? The last time I had a boyfriend, it didn't go so well, Tris."

"What happened?"

He sighs. "Let's just say I ended up with a broken heart and nowhere to sleep for a week."

"Oh. Well it doesn't have to be like that, here."

"I guess." He looks ahead, and a smile spreads across his face. "Goose is cute."

"Goose?" He motions towards Tobias, and I sputter loudly. "Um, oh, I think you might be barking up the wrong tree."

"What makes you say that?"

I'm sure my face is bright red. "Just… a feeling."

Luckily for me, Tobias chooses that time to address us. I don't miss the flash of amusement in his eyes. "Listen up, initiates. For the next few weeks, I am your instructor," he announces. "My name is Four."

Christina snorts. "Four? Like the number?"

"Exactly like that," he says. "Is there a problem?"

"No."

"Good. We're about to go into the Pit, which someday you will learn to love. It—"

"The Pit? Clever name." She snickers again, and the tension coming off of Tobias makes my chest tighten.

He stalks up to her, and for a moment, he just stares. My heartbeat quickens, and not because of the beauty he holds in his eyes. There is danger in them, fire that I've seen in… his father. Who is this man? Who is Four?

As if catching himself, he shakes his head, and the look is gone, but it is forever ingrained in my memory. "What's your name?" he asks quietly. It startles me, because though they've never met, he certainly knows who she is. I've told him. Then again, just forty minutes ago he asked me for my name. _Mine_. As though we don't know each other totally and completely. As if we didn't watch each other grow up.

"Christina," she squeaks — she's afraid of him. Afraid of Tobias. Afraid of the sweet little boy who avoided stepping on cracks because he feared for my mother. No… no, to them, he is just 'Four,' the intimidating, strong, powerfully built instructor.

"Well, _Christina,_ " he hisses, her name like a bullet aimed at me. "If I wanted to put up with Candor smart-mouths, I would have joined their faction. The first lesson you learn from me is to keep your mouth shut. Understand?"

She nods.

Tobias starts toward the shadow at the end of the tunnel. The crowd of initiates follow in silence.

"What a jerk," Christina mumbles.

"Maybe he just doesn't like to be laughed at." For some reason, I can't help but defend him. Because he's Tobias. Because I knew he wouldn't be the same man he was when he left… but _this_?

My eyes burn, but I hold back tears. It is my first instinct to cry when I am frustrated, but today that will change. I remember asking myself, _when I stop crying at frustration, will that be the moment I become Dauntless?_ The knot in my throat grows painful, but I hold them at bay. I have control over my tears. I am strong.

Still, I am reminded of when Uriah told me that tears do not equate weakness, and my resolve chips slightly.

Tobias leads us through the Pit, a large cavern of rock and stone with precarious ledges and rails and a myriad of stores. Black-clad people fill the space, each distinguished by a hair colour or ink design or metal bar. Small children run around recklessly, and I have to hold myself back from telling them to be careful. It's so open, the stores without doors, the room without walls to separate these people, light streaming through the glass ceiling, and a fuzzy memory of Abnegation fills my mind: darkness, boarded-up windows, screams, blood, isolation.

That kind of loneliness seems impossible in this place.

"If you follow me," says Tobias, "I'll show you the chasm."

I hear and feel it before I see it. The familiar rush of fast-moving water, the crash of it against boulders, the white, foamy spray against my ankles that soaks my toes through my shoes. Dangerous, in a stomach-tightening, spark-igniting way.

"The chasm reminds us that there is a fine line between bravery and idiocy!" Tobias shouts. "A daredevil jump off this ledge will end your life. It has happened before and it will happen again. You've been warned."

A flash of colour catches my eye. There are two bright red roses at my feet. Roses, like the kind one would place at a gravestone. But if someone were to fall to their death from here, what would be left to bury? I can't help but wonder the story behind those roses. Two friends, maybe? Or two parents? Red roses mean love. I shake my head and move forward without turning back, just like back on the roof when Rita's sister fell. Death happens every day here, and I'm going to have to get used to that.

Even then, I can't stop thinking about those two stupid roses.

By the time we reach the dining hall, the roar of the chasm still rings in my ears, but it is soon replaced by the cheers of the Dauntless. They hoot. They stamp their feet. Their shouts mix together so they become unintelligible, but it doesn't matter, because they have the same striking effect. This entire faction is loud, untamed, rowdy, and I love it. I want to be a part of it.

"Hey! Over here!" Uriah shouts over the roaring crowd. I grab Christina's hand, and we find ourselves at a mostly full table where a lot of transfers have gathered. There are steel tubs along the center full of brown meat wedged between slices of bread.

Somebody shoves a man behind me, and he falls against my back. Tobias. Because of the crowd, he is pushed up against me, close enough that his chest presses against my wounds. He holds his breath, careful not to move until there is enough space to break away without hurting me, just like I would have done for him years ago. Only Tobias would know to do that. _Only him._

"Thank you," I whisper, staring at his chest where my gaze naturally falls. He is so tall, so encompassing.

When I look away, cheeks flushed, my eyes meet a pair of familiar brown eyes that I thought I would never see again, and a grin breaks across my face. "Zeke!" I squeal, throwing myself into his arms. He laughs heartily, holding me to his chest.

"God, I missed you," Zeke mutters under his breath, resting his chin on my head. Letting go, he holds me at arms length and makes a show of looking surprised. He wipes away a fake tear. "Sixteen, wow. They grow up so fast."

I punch him, and he feigns pain. Someday, he won't have to feign it. "Shut the hell up," I growl at him. "You're only two years older. Besides, you're still as small as you were last time I saw you. Maybe you should focus on growing up yourself." He pouts, making me laugh.

"I see she's still a fiery little Stiff," a voice says from behind him. Shauna. She smiles at me. "Good to see you again, Beatrice."

"You too, Shauna. Oh, and it's Tris now."

"Tris," she repeats. "I like it. Very Dauntless. You know, the first time I met you I had a feeling I would see you again."

"The first time you met her?" Tobias says disinterestedly, sitting down beside me. He grabs one of the strange food items in the tub and spoons some red stuff onto it.

"The day of our Aptitude Test," Shauna replies. "She came to see Zeke. Of course, he spilled that the first time they met, she was in the infirmary with a black eye. Let me tell you, everyone who was at that table has mad respect for her, Four."

"You can add first jumper to her list of achievements," Tobias announces casually, but I can hear the hint of pride in his voice.

Zeke hoots and claps me on the shoulder. "Damn, that's my girl!"

"If I remember correctly, Zeke, you were also first jumper," Tobias adds, letting out a laugh. I missed that genuine laugh, now loud and bellowing, still sweet as the chime of bells. By the look on Zeke's face, he doesn't appreciate it as much.

"Oh yeah," Shauna snorts. "You fell face-first into that net. That was priceless. Though, to be fair, all we saw was your ass disappearing off the roof."

"Hey! I do not appreciate the fun-poking. My nose was red and puffy for weeks!"

She sobers. "Right, sorry. I shouldn't be laughing at your injuries… _Rudolf._ " The table erupts in laughter, banging on the wood and slapping each other on the back. The kind of roughhousing that makes Dauntless warm and welcoming. I smile to myself as they break off into their own conversations, Christina and Lark with the other transfers about their old factions and the Dauntless about the latest scandals.

Uriah stares at me pointedly and juts his chin towards Tobias, then turns and dissolves into their conversations, poking fun at Zeke good-naturedly. I sigh quietly, hugging my arms, and Tobias pushes the plate of meat towards me.

"Eat," he says, concern laced through his voice. "You'll need the strength tomorrow."

"My stomach's become rather small," I reply. "I don't want to throw up."

"Just a little." He lowers his voice. "Please, for me." It's the first real acknowledgement that he even remembers who I am. His stirring eyes see through me, and I nod softly, picking up one of the meat-between-bread things. Unsure what to do with it, I squish it between my fingers. Oil oozes from it.

Christina catches my hand, wide-eyed. "Gosh, Tris, what are you doing? You look like you've never seen a hamburger before."

"I've seen one, just never eaten one. A hamburger, that's what it's called?" She nods.

"It's beef," Tobias adds, acting as though he just noticed me. "Put this on it."

He shows me the bowl of red stuff, takes the top piece of bread off my 'hamburger', and spoons it on, his arm brushing against mine as he works. He used to help me with my food all the time, so I think nothing of it, thanking him quietly. Christina gives him a strange look, but brushes it off and continues expressing her shock at my having never eaten one of these before.

"I've never eaten one either," Lark says, probably just sensing my unease at the attention. "Amity don't eat meat."

"And Abnegation eat plain food," says the Erudite boy Christina was ogling earlier. "Plant-based diet with no sauces and a minimum of seasoning."

Christina raises her eyebrows. "What textbook did you swallow?"

He smiles cheekily. "Nice to meet you too. I'm Will, Erudite."

"Of course you are," she replies. "Tris, I swear, in all the years I've known you, I've never not felt sorry for you."

I shrug. "Extravagance is considered self-indulgent and unnecessary."

She smirks. "No wonder you left."

"Yeah," I reply, rolling my eyes. "It was just because of the food."

The corner of Tobias' mouth twitches.

"Wait, all the years you've known her?" says a Candor named Al. "I thought you two were from different factions."

"I was Candor," Christina tells him. "She was a Stiff. We met at school, and we've been friends for almost nine years now."

"Wow," grunts Peter from the other end of the table. I don't remember him sitting down. "A Stiff, friends with a Mouth? I've never heard of something like that before. Then again, you probably get being a faction traitor from your mother."

The table goes silent, including the members.

Peter smirks. "Haven't you heard? Rumour has it that her mother was executed for treason. That's how she died, and why. Not that I'm surprised. Abnegation was always the corrupt faction."

I fall silent, unable to defend my mother. Unable to tell the truth — that the boy sitting beside me killed my mother. His entire body tenses, and I can almost feel the pain and guilt and rage radiating off of him like heat from the sun. So I do the only thing I can; I place my hand over his, under the table, because even though I can't forgive him… he's still Tobias. Because even though he pulled the trigger, he's not the one who killed her. He squeezes back, and his breathing evens out.

"You're a jackass," Christina snaps at Peter. "Her mother was murdered by a factionless man."

Zeke slams his hands on the table, and the rage seething inside him explodes. "Just because you were too scared to jump off that damn roof first doesn't mean you need to spread lies like that. I swear to God if you say another word to her—" Uriah puts his hand on Zeke's arm, calming him down, and I thank him with a gracious nod. He reciprocates.

Peter smirks. "So you have boys in Dauntless, too? I see you're well prepared. You know, I was wondering how you even got this far. I bet this guy told you that there was a net at the bottom of that fall. Coward."

Uriah stands up abruptly. "I thought you looked familiar," he says, glaring at the smug boy. "You're the one who punched Tris and sent her to the infirmary all those years ago, right? You're full of bullshit." Everyone at the silent table turns to Peter — it seems they all remember the day they met me and Zeke told them what happened. The day that changed my life, that made me realize what it means to be Dauntless.

 _The Dauntless take bullying very seriously; they are the Protectors, and they don't like it when people prey on those who can't defend themselves._

I see it again today — the respect in their eyes. Tobias grasps at my fingers, and I know that this exchange is taking a toll on him.

Tobias surprises me when he leans forward and says in a low, terror-instilling voice, "I think I can speak on everyone's behalf that we don't need cowards like you in this faction, initiate. One more indiscretion and your cowardice will no longer be tolerated by Dauntless leadership."

"Take his word for it," Zeke growls. "If he wanted to, Four could remove you to the factionless right now."

"You have the power to do that?" I remark. He stares into my eyes.

"I'm one of the six leaders," he replies. "So, yes, you should definitely take me seriously."

I am left speechless — Tobias, a leader? Of course I had always known he was capable, but I had never thought he would be interested. I had always seen him as a simple worker, perhaps a tattoo artist, or maybe even in the patrols.

"Seriously? But you're so young," Lark says.

Tobias gives him a grave look. "Age doesn't matter here." No, it doesn't — skill, determination, dedication are what matter. Heart. Tobias has all of it.

The doors to the cafeteria open, and a hush falls over the room. So quiet that I can hear the sound of a man entering the room, the sharp sound of hard boots and rock. I look over my shoulder. His neck is tattooed with fierce-looking blocks, and there are two black rods piercing his right eyebrow. He wears heavy studs in his ears, and the sides of his blond hair are buzzed to the scalp. His appearance is thick and frightening, but what really makes him menacing is the cold, empty look in his eyes as they sweep across the room.

"Who's that?" hisses Christina.

"His name is Eric," says Tobias. "He's also a leader."

"You two don't give off the same vibe," Lark notes.

Tobias' eyes harden. "He's a different kind of Dauntless."

When I look at Eric, I immediately want to look away. It's that kind of unapproachable air to him that makes him a terrible choice for leadership. But Eric's eyes stop scanning the room when they land on us, and he starts towards our table, dropping into the seat next to Tobias.

He stares at me, making me shift uncomfortably in my seat. "Pretty little Stiff," he snarls, sending a shiver down my spine. "Aren't you going to introduce me, Four?"

"This is Tris and Christina," Tobias says, caution at the tip of his tongue. "Initiates, meet Eric."

"You'd think Dauntless would have less Stiffs than it does," he says pointedly. Tobias doesn't look him in the eye. "I thought we'd changed that. We'll see how long you last."

I narrow my eyes at him, a bitter taste in my mouth. "I plan on staying, but go ahead and try to change my mind."

"Tris," Tobias hisses warningly. It may sound like he's berating me for being rude or disrespectful, but to anyone really listening, he's cautioning me against getting on this man's bad side. He's trying to keep me safe.

Eric watches me with a more calculated look now. "Interesting," he muses. He straightens and claps Tobias on the shoulder, a little too hard. "Max wanted me to tell you that we have a meeting in the morning." Eric eyes something on the bench we're seated at before smirking and getting up.

When he walks away, Tobias' eyes widen. "Shit," he mutters under his breath. I've never heard him curse before.

It's only when he pulls his hand away from mine like it's on fire that I realize what Eric was looking at with such amusement.

* * *

Christina and I sit cross-legged on my bed as she braids my hair. It reaches past my waist at this point. "You should really get this cut," she tells me. "It's going to give you hell in training."

I turn around to face her. "I know I should cut it, but I haven't since my mom died."

"Maybe saying this makes me a horrible person," she says, "but that was five years ago, and I think it's time to move on. Not that you should forget about her, but you should look at this as a new chapter in your life, and know that she's watching over you and wants you to be happy."

I don't reply. Christina smiles anyway and leans over to kiss my forehead before climbing into her own bed a few feet away. It's barely past nine o'clock, but most of us are already in bed. It's been a long day.

I'm so grateful that Christina and Uriah are here with me. And Tobias. I don't know what I would do without them, except that I would be lost. As I drift off to sleep, I picture those swimming blue eyes in my mind, but I keep seeing that look in them — the look he gave Christina when she talked back to him. His face keeps morphing into Marcus', then my father's, and then I wake with a start.

Not that I would have been able to get much sleep anyways. As I sit up in bed, I listen to the unconscious breathing of the nine other people in the room and think about what Eric said about rankings and cuts. Maybe if I hadn't trained in Abnegation, I would be worried. Still, I could use this to my advantage.

Loud, heavy sobs echo through the dormitory from the bunk next to mine. I'm almost sure everyone in this room cried themselves to sleep apart from myself, but at least they had the decency to do it quietly. Al turns in his bed, attempting to muffle his sobs with his pillow, but it doesn't work. I know I should comfort him, that my mother would want me to, but when I think about what Christina told me earlier, I realize that I am my own person.

That person is disgusted by Al's weakness. That person is not selfless. That person is not kind. That person will not comfort him.

I climb out of bed, and for a moment, Al quiets. Maybe he thinks I'm coming to talk to him. Instead, I pull on another shirt and slip out of the dorm, trying not to wake anyone. I can almost hear the disappointment in the next sob, even from halfway down the corridor, but I can't find it in myself to feel guilty about his tears.

At night, the pathways of Dauntless are even darker, lit only by the soft blue lanterns at the end of each hall, and cold. It's almost impossible to tell where I'm going, so I wander aimlessly, almost certain that I won't be able to find my way back until morning. Which means that I may have to find an alcove or something to sleep in. Which would probably be more comfortable anyway.

I follow the only sound I recognize — rushing water, the chasm. I don't know what draws me here other than my love of water. Sitting by the railing, I watch the white spray douse my feet, the cold sending a wave of contentment through my body. Those roses are gone, probably trampled by passing feet or swept up by the rising waves.

I know why everyone was crying: leaving their families, their homes, only to be met with the possibility of not even staying here. But, even though I am not overconfident about my chances of staying in Dauntless, I know that I am better off here even with that possibility than I was at Abnegation since I lost the only person who made me see the good in that place.

As the chasm churns and water crashes against rocks, I am hit with a memory so hard that it shocks me, playing in front of my eyes like it's happening in that moment.

 _"_ _I love water," I say, leaning back against the smooth boulder. Tobias shakes his head, disagreeing._

 _"_ _Water is nothing. It is tasteless and colourless… and boring. Definitely boring. You can never get any thrill from it."_

 _"_ _I think you're wrong," I countered, watching the gentle stream. "I don't know why or how, but there's something about water that seems dangerous."_

 _"_ _Dangerous?"_

 _I nod. "Dangerous, powerful, like it could swallow you whole."_

 _"_ _Then why do you love it?"_

 _"_ _Because… it's strange. It can hurt you, but it also keeps you alive. And it's beautiful, whether it's blue or colourless." His lips part, and they raise into a grin. He shakes his head again, but this time, he does not disagree._

 _"_ _Only you, Tris," he says, dipping his hand in the stream. "Only you." Then, quick as a dart, he pulls his hand from the stream and flicks it in my face, spraying water across my cheek. I squeal and duck, rolling across the ground and hiding behind a rock._

Finally, I realize what draws me to the chasm, to this place that could only hurt me, but still makes me feel safe. I withdraw the stone from my pocket. It's lost its shine entirely, now a muted grey colour that reminds me of my mother's eyes. I rub the smooth surface, thinking of the boy who gave it to me.

"I think about that stupid rock a lot," a voice says, startling me. He grins and sits beside me, careful not to let the water touch his feet. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," I protest, tucking the stone back into my pocket. "Just caught me off guard. What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing." I give him a look, and he holds his hands up in surrender. "Fine, I couldn't sleep so I was checking some of the security tapes and I saw you here and thought we should talk."

"What's a leader doing checking security tapes at one in the morning?"

"I like to know what's happening, and nighttime is usually when the secrets come out," he says cryptically. "Plus, it's relaxing. I like to think that if I wasn't a leader, I would work in the control room."

I snort. "Yeah, spying on people was always your thing."

He doesn't reply, only shakes his head and stands up. For a moment, I think he might be leaving me here. Then, he offers his hand to me. I stare at it, confused.

"Aren't you coming?" he asks.

"Where?"

"Somewhere we can talk, for real."

"Won't someone see us on the tapes?"

"I already told you, I have full access. One of the perks of leadership." I take his hand, and he lifts me up with little effort, muscles flexing in his arm. I like watching them ripple and entertain the idea of making him lift heavy stuff for me — until I realize I sound like Christina.

"What are you doing, anyways? I mean, being a leader."

He looks around, as if checking for spies, and says, "Come with me, we'll talk in my apartment." I nod and let Tobias lead me away from the chasm.

He guides me through the compound with expertise, and I'm impressed, even after two years here, that he can navigate in the dark. Because really, there's little to distinguish these halls. Eventually we make it past the closed-up shops and find ourselves in an area where the doors are far apart, which I assume is because leader apartments are larger than the others. Tobias enters the passcode and lets me in. I try not to dwell on the fact that his passcode is my birthday.

The first thing that hits me when I walk into his apartment are the words _Fear God Alone_ painted on the far wall across from his bed. I remember the last time he said that to me, the day my mother was killed, and how much comfort and courage those words instilled in me.

I lean against the wall. "Okay, we're here. Talk."

He sighs and shuts the door. "There's a lot of things going on that you don't know about, things I can't explain right now. You have to trust me." Immediately, my mind goes to the word _divergent_ , but I push the thought away.

"I don't know if I can."

"And I understand, after everything that's happened" he says. "But this is bigger than the both of us. All I've ever wanted was to keep you safe."

"I _am_ safe."

"Not here." His arms are tense. "Not in Dauntless. At least, you wouldn't have been if I didn't accept Max's offer."

"You did this for me?"

"Partly," he admits. "But I did it for the faction, too. I could see where it was going, what was happening to the authority figures, and I took action. Especially when Eric was offered the same position. I didn't want to see the place I would spend the rest of my life in catch fire and burn in front of my eyes."

"What's with you and Eric, anyways? He gives me the creeps."

He hesitates. "Eric and I… we have a lot of history between us. And I… know things about him that he doesn't like me knowing. He's a complicated person, but not… bad. Dangerous, maybe. Volatile, yes."

"Oh." I wonder what occurred between the two of them. "What about initiation? You'd think a leader has better things to do than teach a bunch of kids how to fight."

"Both Eric and I are going to be there for the duration of your training. He's just watching, though. I made sure that my becoming an instructor was one of the conditions of taking up Max' offer."

"Conditions? Just how much did he want you, Tobias?"

"Enough."

Mind reeling, I sit down on the blue quilt, and he sits beside me. If he was anyone else, I would have taken the couch, but being on a bed with Tobias has never made me uncomfortable.

Although, now that we're older, I'm definitely more aware of his presence beside me.

After a moment of silence, his hand falls on my back, assessing my injuries, and I wince.

"Take off your shirt," he says absently. My eyes widen, and the direction my mind goes in makes my cheeks burn red. Plus, the fact that we are sitting on his bed doesn't help. When he looks at me, he seems to realize what I'm thinking, which only makes both of us blush harder. He sputters, "No, that's not… what I… I didn't mean…"

"Tobias?"

"I just meant… so I could see your back. You know, the cuts and whatnot. Sorry…" It amuses me how much like Tobias he seems now that we're alone and he's flustered. He scratches the back of his neck, and I laugh. He joins in after a moment, and then we're all-out laughing hysterically in the early hours of the morning.

I dry the tears in my eyes from laughing — the best kind of tears. "It's okay, Tobias."

He calms down. "It's really nice to hear my name again."

"It's really nice to hear my name, too. For the first time," I reply. "Turn around."

He does, and I pull my shirt over my head, left only in the black bra that Christina picked for me. But I'm comfortable, because I know that Tobias respects me, and I respect him. Because this is intimate, but not in the way that frightens me.

Still, I can't help the little fire burning in the pit of my stomach.

"Okay," I tell him, facing the wall. I hear the sheets shift, and then a sharp hiss that escapes him. I don't really know how bad the scarring is, but I do know that it's hard to treat those wounds on your own. And by the way my shirt stuck to my back, I assume I didn't do a very good job.

It's quiet for the longest time, and I hold my breath for all of it. Finally I give up and turn around, and what I see breaks my heart.

His face crumples when we lock eyes, absolutely falls apart, and tears stream down his cheeks, loud sobs racking his body. And yes, he is showing weakness, but I can't find it in myself to care. Suddenly he's nine years old, and I am seven, and Mama and I have just found him in the factionless sector, barely strong enough to chew, and we've brought him home, and now we're taking care of him. It's so incredibly endearing that my heart swells to twice its size and squeezes through my ribs.

I scoot closer to him, and he just holds me in his arms, whispering, "I'm so sorry for leaving you," over and over again, and I keep whispering, "It's okay, baby," until he stops crying and just rocks the both of us back and forth. I don't how long we stay like this, well past our legs becoming numb, and the raw feeling between us after all those years apart is overwhelming. There's nothing 'weak' here, just strength and pure emotion.

Looking up at his face, I press my lips against the lump in his throat, and his breath catches again. "I need to clean you up," he whispers into my hair, alternating between speaking and kissing the top of my head. I mewl in protest, but he just pulls back and walks into the bathroom, emerging with a large, quality first-aid kit.

"That's better than what Mama had," I say.

"I bought it yesterday, just in case…" Just in case I chose Dauntless, just in case my father hurt me enough. "I was hoping you wouldn't need me to use it."

I lay on my stomach as Tobias works, thinking back to the first time Mama cleaned his wounds. The heartbreaking cry he let out when she touched him with the anti-septic, how his hand squeezed mine.

"The first time I saw you," he begins, no doubt trying to distract me from the pain, "I knew you would end up in Dauntless. You were so strong, yet so compassionate. So brave."

I reply, hisses breaking my words up every now and then, "One of the first things you… said to me was that you wanted… to be Dauntless. I couldn't… see it at first, but then I imagined… your pale skin, but tan and strong and healthy instead… your back healed… your arms toned with muscles. I'm so proud of you… _Toby_." He stops when his nickname escaped my pained lips. When I look, a tear slips down his cheek.

"Don't worry, happy tears. Just happy that you're here with me," he mutters, grabbing a metal tool. "Not happy that bastard ever laid a hand on you. Or that I let him."

"You didn't let him. Tobias… back then, I needed you to leave. I know I said… I wanted you to go, but that was only… because I needed you… to be safe."

"I couldn't think about anything another than you. God, it was frustrating," he says. "I didn't know what to do with myself, not knowing if you were in pain, hurt, in trouble."

"The answer was probably… yes. To all of them," I admit, making him wince. "But I was just happy… that you were safe. I need you to… know that. Damn, that… hurts like hell."

"Sorry. It's almost over."

"Keep… talking… _please_." I groan loudly as something pierces my skin, but the slight pressure of his lips on the bare skin between my shoulder blades distracts me. My breathing grows heavier — from the pain, of course. Totally from the pain.

"What do you want to know?" he whispers against my skin.

Focus on my thoughts, I come up with a question I want the answer to. "Why do they call you… Four?"

I feel him smile against me. "Do you remember the first time you comforted me after a nightmare?" I nod. "Do you remember what we talked about?"

"You were scared… I said I would never… let anyone hurt you… again."

"And I said that was my job, as the boy." I smack his arm.

"You were a sexist child," I respond.

Tobias laughs softly. "That's what you said back then, too. Well, I believe the exact word was gender-ist." I smack him again. He smiles. "And then?"

"And then you told me…" It dawns on me. "You told me you only had four fears."

"I was right," he concludes. I don't ask him how he knows. Then he taps my arm gently. "Done." I turn around, and his fingers find the knife wound on my shoulder. I wince, and he apologizes.

"Four fears…" I want to ask him what they were, if I was in any of them, but I'm not sure I want to know the answers. So I trail off into silence, thinking of anything else. "I saw Thea this morning."

"Hmm?" he hums as he expertly undoes my poor attempt at wrapping my own shoulder and cleans the mess underneath. "How is she?"

"Sad," I reply honestly. "Alone, now." Thinking of her reminds me of Thomas, but I don't want to bring up his death right now. Or his relation to Tobias. Not tonight.

"I wanted to go see her," he says, guilt seeping into his voice. "I just…"

"I know." His fingers ghost across my cheeks, and then he rises from the bed and crosses the room. When he returns, he's holding an oversized T-shirt. I pull it over my head, noting how it smells like him — oak moss and orange blossom, earthy and floral with a hint of citrus, just how I remember it. We lay together on the bed in silence until I realize how tired I am. My head falls against his chest, eyes rolling shut, and I cling to his shirt.

"It's late," he whispers, voice loud in my tired ears. "You should get back to the dorms and get some rest before training."

"Don't wanna," I reply. "Not sleepy."

He chuckles, chest rumbling, and I groan softly. "They'll notice if you aren't there in the morning," he says. Suddenly, there's air under me, and a gentle swaying motion that makes me drowsy. Then, what seems like forever later, my back hits a hard mattress, and a symphony of snores fills my ears. I shift and yawn loudly.

"Tobias—" His finger covers my lips.

"Shhh… you'll wake the others. No one can know I'm here. Go to sleep, Bea. I'll be here when you wake up." I grumble something indistinct, and he crouches beside my cot, brushing the stray hairs out of my face. "I'm so sorry I left you, but I promise I'll never do it again. Not like that."

The last thing I remember is a gentle pressure on my forehead before I fall into a blissful dream about a boy with blue eyes like the ocean. I never hear him leave, but even in my sleepy state, I doubt that he could possibly be here when I awake without rousing suspicion.

In the morning, the first thing I see is Tobias, true to his word, banging on the metal pipes to wake us all up.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

Tobias lingers around the dorm while the initiates get ready hurriedly, looking horribly uncomfortable in a room full of half-naked teenagers — at least some part of his Abnegation upbringing has stayed with him over the past two years. So, to alleviate the awkwardness thickening in the air, he barks out orders. "Initiates, be in the training room in fifteen! If you are not there, you _will_ be docked a significant amount of points. Lateness will not be tolerated. Doors will be locked. We don't have extra credit here — this isn't Erudite. Get your shit together."

Christina pokes my arm, urging me to move, but I only shake my head. She sighs, assuming that my Abnegation modesty is what is stopping me from showering with everyone else — it isn't, not entirely at least. Once she decides to join the rest for breakfast, muttering something about not knowing where the training room is, I sigh and wait for the room to clear out before pulling my shirt over my head. Tobias kindly averts his eyes.

"I brought you some waterproof bandages for your shower," he murmurs, an adorable, light pink blush spreading across his cheeks as he holds the bag out to me. I take it, face burning, and head towards the bathroom, glad to have it to myself.

The cold water stings against my skin, as if acid is spewing from the grimy faucet. I shiver and finish quickly, eager to get out of there, and when I emerge, wrapped in a scratchy towel, Tobias is sitting on my bed, facing the wall, a brown muffin in his hand. I clear my throat quietly, notifying him of my presence.

"There's a fresh bandage roll in your supply box," he tells me, his voice thick and husky. It sends tingles through my stomach. He stands, back rigid and to me, before setting the muffin down on my bed. "The gauze should last a week or so, and after that you shouldn't need it. You won't have time for breakfast before training, but you should eat this. I'll let you get dressed, now."

"Wait." He freezes, and my breaths come out shallow. "I… I can't put the bandages on properly by myself. I don't… want them coming undone in training."

"That would be bad," he agrees, gingerly taking his seat facing the wall again and reaching for the roll of bandages under my bed. He is tense and uneasy, just like I am. I gulp and clench my fists, eyes glued to the back of his head, before dropping the towel and pulling on my underwear. He's just as uncomfortable as I am. This is ridiculous! We aren't doing anything we haven't done before, that we didn't do last night. But it feels different now.

He turns around when I brush his shoulder with my fingertips, a hard look in his eye — it's not harsh or cold, but defensive, like I'm someone he needs protection from. Maybe I am, but whether we like it or not, so is he. And, at the same time, we are each other's protectors.

Eyes glued to my face, Tobias fumbles with the bandages, the lump in his throat bobbing up and down as he swallows. I twist the ends of my hair idly, waiting for him to say something. It seems as though he is waiting for me to do the same.

He clears his throat and gestures with his hand. "Can you…"

"Oh!" I exclaim, embarrassment growing, and turn so my back is facing him. My face burns under the skin, glowing a bright red, and I bury it in my hands. "Sorry."

"S'okay," he mumbles, taking a step towards me. His warmth draws nearer, and my spine straightens, jolted by the electricity shooting between us.

The second his fingertips brush my shoulder, I relax. The fiery current is gone, replaced by a pleasant calm that envelopes me. It is the feeling of _Tobias_ being close to me, the feeling of safety: and, mixed together with the dangerous passion of _Four_ , the feeling is entirely overwhelming.

A small, low gasp escapes his lips, and I know he feels the same.

I don't dare turn around.

"I'm just going to reapply, okay?" I nod mutely, voice long gone, as his fingers expertly smooth the soft fabric across my back. I hiss quietly as the pain flares up, and he murmurs apologies and reassurances in my ear as he works.

As the last bandage tightens, he presses a kiss to the back of my head. For a moment, I am reminded of my mother's kisses, and the fuzzy feeling spreads throughout my body. I sigh softly, the gentle exhale of air mixing with the sound of his heavy breaths. "All done?"

"All done," he says, hands resting against my shoulder blades. We stand in silence for a heartbeat or two, perfectly in sync. Then, as his eyes find the projected clock on the wall, he straightens, face becoming stoic once more. His _Four_ face. "I have to go set up the training room. Get… _dressed_ , eat the muffin and meet me down there."

His voice is cold, authoritative, but the minuscule stutter doesn't elude me. A small frown works its way onto my face, and I nod solemnly. "I'll be there."

Tobias nods and makes for the door, the muscles in his back tense against the thin shirt covering them. He pauses in the doorway and turns to face me, not looking me in the eye. I watch him, curious. Flushed, he raises his gaze to mine. "I… do you know how to get to the training room?"

* * *

The training room is a cold, square room with grey, stony walls and a red ring in the centre of it. Lining the walls, maroon bags filled with sand hang from the bars along the ceiling, beckoning us towards them with their bandaged knuckles. We stand off to the side, silent, as Eric and Tobias flip through sheets of paper locked into clipboards, an air of undiscussed hostility hovering between them.

"Wonder what _that_ story is," Christina mutters, jerking her head towards our instructors. I clench my jaw, guilt rising inside of me as her eyes fall on Tobias. It was so much easier to keep our… association from her when she didn't know he existed.

"Probably nothing," I reply quietly, picking at my nails. Her eyes narrow, but she doesn't say anything else. Lark tugs at the sleeve of her shirt, whispering something in her ear, and she laughs softly, gaze falling on the Erudite boy, Will, as he attempts a flying kick at the punching bag.

Eric's stony glare shuts them all up.

"Children," he hisses, sauntering towards us. I hold back a snort — he's, maybe, two years older than the initiates. His head swerves to find me, as though he can read my mind, and lingers there for a moment before returning to the group.

"Today is the first day of your training here in Dauntless. It is the first day of the rest of your lives, or, for most of you, the first day of something you will never get back. I want all of you to imagine something for me: the factionless sector, cold, bare, a life of depending on others for the simplest of needs. And, based on your choice of faction, I can assume that I have just described your worst nightmare." He pauses, and as he grins, the rings in his eyebrow stretch out, an abyss leading inside of him. "Come a few weeks, you will be living it."

There is a concealed eloquence in his speech, as though he is actively _trying_ to hide it. The threats in his voice almost succeed in covering it, though, and the atmosphere of the room disintegrates into one of panicked memory and stress. Eric smirks, soaking up the anxiety coming from the initiates. _That's better_ , I can almost hear him think. Nausea rises in my stomach.

Tobias steps forward, a deep frown engraved in his face. "What Eric is trying to say is that, from here, it's only hard work that will carry you. The Dauntless-born have had their whole lives to train for this moment… and though I'm sure _some of you_ have prepared in advance, a lot of you are fish out of water in Dauntless. Only you won't have time to learn how to walk before you need to run."

My chest tightens as he practically calls me out in front of Eric and the other initiates. His eyes linger on me for a moment before they cross to the large, muscly Erudite boy who was comforting the crying girl on the train. Tobias saunters towards him and claps him on the shoulder.

"Edward here has been training for years, or so I've heard. This isn't against the rules — we admire preparedness here in Dauntless. But it does mean that the rest of you need to step up your game." This time he doesn't look in my direction, but a fuzzy feeling envelopes me as I realize that he's trying to calm my nerves. He's trying to remind me that I've been training, too — that I will be a force to be reckoned with.

Eric glowers at Tobias, straightening his spine as though to seem larger. Tobias merely smirks at him, well-aware that they are standing in this room as equals: two Dauntless leaders, one ruthless, one honourable. In the end, it is clear who wins.

But when Eric turns his glare onto me, he falters.

Tobias composes himself quickly enough that no one notices but me — and that's only because I can't take my eyes off of him — stepping in front of the large, piercing man. "Initiates, you will learn two things today. The first is how to wield your body. The second is how to wield a gun." His voice doesn't waver when he says the last word, but the hard look in his eyes does; it's so subtle, so hidden that only I can see it, only the person who knows this boy and his body like her own. Because I'm here, the girl whose mother died of a gunshot wound, the girl who watched him fire the weapon through hazy, half-gone eyes.

For the rest of the lesson, he doesn't look my way.

Two hours later, the skin on my palms is peeling, and the stench of sweat is all I can smell around me. I keel over, panting against my knees. Christina's feet disappear from my view as she pulls her body up, fingers dangling precariously from the metal bar holding her weight. As I straighten, she catches my eye and warns me silently to continue, as Eric has been making his rounds for the last twenty minutes, ramming his steel-toed work boots into the idle initiates' sides.

I drop to the ground, catching myself on my elbows and lifting my body up, dropping down, lifting up. My muscles burn, and the fire that runs down my back is like a fissure through the earth, tearing it in two and leaving hollow, endless pain in its wake. The sheer torture of it makes my elbows buckle, and my face hits the ground forcefully.

Christina gasps, dropping down to check on me, and Lark runs over from the weights. I pull myself up, assuring them that I am fine and just embarrassed (because I am, so, _so embarrassed_ ) when a heavy shadow falls over me. Silently, I pray that it's Tobias — please, _please_ let it be Tobias…

One would think that with as many people watching over me from above as I have, at least some of my prayers would be answered.

Eric sneers at me. If anyone could make a smile look as menacing as a lion baring its teeth, it's him. "Initiate," he snarls, bulging arms crossed over his wide chest. "Last I checked, nap time was only for the primary levels."

I hold back an insolent snort, instead painting a remorseful expression onto face. "I'll get back to work right away, sir," I tell him confidently but respectfully, swallowing back the bile that rises in my throat. Apparently, he can't find anything wrong with my reply, so he just clicks his teeth against the metal ball protruding from his tongue and turns his attention away. My terrified heart attempts to slow, but the sideways glances he sends in my direction every now and then keeps it at a steady high.

Just as I think I'm about to collapse from pain and exertion again, Tobias calls lunch. Christina groans in relief, picking herself up out of the sweat puddle on the floor where she was doing sit-ups. "After that workout, I'm going to need some serious carbs," she jokes, picking up Lark by the armpits and setting him on his feet. I lean my elbows against the wall, trying desperately to catch my breath, waiting for the fire raging on my back to calm.

"You coming, Tris?" Chris asks me, and just as I'm about to answer, Tobias cuts in.

"I need to speak with you, initiate," he interrupts, low and authoritative. Christina's eyes widen, and she backs up a few steps before throwing a concerned look my way. I put on a mask of fear and nod 'hesitantly' at her — in truth, I couldn't think of anything I would rather do than speak to him. But of course, I would never tell her that. She turns slowly, making her way out of the room, seeming as though she feels like she is leaving me to be eaten by ravenous wolves.

As Eric had to leave early for a meeting, Tobias and I are alone in the training room. He doesn't speak at first, merely marching towards the door and bolting it in place, then over to his bag and fishing out his tablet, typing furiously into it before shoving it back in, donning a placated expression.

Finally, he returns to my side, and the hard look on his face dissolves completely. Suddenly, his arms form a cage around me — not a restrictive cage, but a safe, familiar one that keeps out the bad of the world. And when my arms tighten around his middle, they do the same for him.

"It hurts," I whisper pathetically into his chest. He doesn't laugh at me, or pity me.

"I know," he simply replies instead, because it's true — he does know. He's the only one who does. "I wish I could take all your pain away."

"I know," I reply. That same wish has been running through my head for the last seven years, since I first saw him in the factionless sector. But I don't tell him, because he knows. He's always known.

He hesitates. "After lunch, it's guns."

I swallow loudly. "Yeah."

"Are you…" he trails off, pulling away from me and scratching behind his ear nervously. "Are you going to be okay?"

"It depends on what you mean by okay, Tobias."

He doesn't seem to have an answer to that.

"I'll learn the same as everyone else," I reassure him. "I'll pretend nothing ever happened… before."

He still stays silent. Annoyance flares in my chest.

"I'll act like I've seen a gun before," I spit. "I'll act like I've seen someone die in front of me. I'll act like I've never been betrayed like that before."

His face crumbles, falls apart into discernible pieces that no one would ever be able to put together, but I still continue. I don't know why I do, but it's like everything I've been keeping inside just flows out like a dam's burst.

"I'll act like my best friend, who I _loved,_ didn't murder my mother—"

" _Bea-Tris,_ " he chokes out, sobs falling from him like vomit from a drunk's mouth. Suddenly I freeze, realizing what's been said, what's been done, what can and cannot be taken back. And I reach out my arms, hoping he will take hold of them, but he doesn't, and everything looks darker, like there's a lens over my eyes.

The pain I felt a minute ago doesn't compare to the pain I feel now.

So I turn on my heels, eyes dry as the crumpled-up leaves littering the train tracks, and wrench the deadbolt up, slamming the heavy door to the training room behind me, a silent promise to never return floating in my dust, gearing itself up to be broken.

* * *

 **A/N: Okay... let me have it. I know, I'm a real jerk. But hey, it was time for some more angst! Our poor little Tris just can't help herself, can she? Well, that's all for now. Reviews really do make my day, but I appreciate you just taking the time to read my work. Thanks!**

 **Lots of love, theartlessrose xoxo**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

I am siting on a slab of rock that makes up the benches, picking at my food, when Tobias walks into the dining room, eyes hard and rancorous, and takes a seat at an empty table as far from mine as possible. There's an anchored pit in my stomach, knowing that he's so close. All those years, we were worlds apart, and here we are just in each other's reach, yet still not touching. I know it's my fault…

Zeke catches my eye across the table, eyes drowning in curiosity and concern, but I just shake my head subtly, pressing my ear against my shoulder, half-drowning out the tirades of my fellow initiates about how hard the first few hours of our training were. It's only after a few minutes of 'sore muscles' and 'nothing could be worse' that I just can't take the incessant buzzing anymore.

"Shut up!" I shout, startling everyone into silence. I catch Christina's wide-eyed gaze, concerned, startled, and lower my voice to a whisper and my eyes to the metal tub sitting on the table. "Just… please. Shut up."

The former Candor's hand comes to rest on my arm. "Tris, what's wrong? You're being snippy, and that's unlike you."

I manoeuvre my face into a stoic expression and return my voice to its normal volume. "It's nothing… I'm sorry for taking it out on you guys. I'm just sick of hearing everyone talk about how hard today was. It just makes it even more glaringly obvious that I'm not going to make it." _Stop saying things couldn't be worse,_ I think. _Things have been worse._ Chris and Lark and the other initiates at the table ramble some comforting bullshit, but it's Zeke's incredulous stare that makes me sink lower under the table. He knows what I can do, and he knows that excuse was a load of crap.

"I'm sure Four would disagree," he interjects after a long moment, glancing at the slouched man sitting alone at the faraway table; the lunch room is busy as always, and yet no one dares to sit beside him, skirting around the hunk of stone he somehow claimed as his own without uttering a word. I turn a deadly gaze onto Zeke — his risky, illuminating comment is not something I wish to deal with right now. Luckily, no one pays him attention, having moved on to the topic of our afternoon training session.

I lean in close to the older boy and murmur icily, "Maybe you should go ask him." He stares at me for a moment longer before wordlessly gathering his tray and getting up. Marching across the room, he slides into the seat right beside Tobias, setting his food down and a hand across my best friend's broad shoulders. I can see his lips move, and Tobias' in response, but the thundering racket cocoons their tête-à-tête from my prying ears, the kind of noise that, in all the city, can only be heard in a room full of Dauntless.

My throat tightens uncomfortably, and suddenly I feel like crying again. That's when I fully realize how stupid I am being. Not that it makes a difference… Stupidity isn't a crime here, not by a long shot; if it was, we wouldn't have enough soldiers to hold this crumbling city together. Despite everything, however, I still feel like a criminal. Why?

I'm a coward.

That's why I run from Tobias, why I can't forgive him. I'm too _afraid_ to forgive him. Afraid that, if I do, if I let myself see him again as the boy he once was, the one I loved…

Suddenly I can't wait to have a gun in my hand again, desperate for the reminder that Tobias is gone, and he has left Four in his place — no, Four is someone else entirely, for there is no place left for Tobias' absence to cause an emptiness. Not in Abnegation, not in Marcus' home, and… and certainly not in my heart.

I stand from my seat, scraping the backs of my knees against the grainy rock. Christina's head whips up from her plate where she was practically inhaling a piece of chocolate cake; she's eyeing me, concerned. "Lunch just started. Where are you going?" she asks as I turn away. "We still have thirty minutes until training starts up again."

"I'm going to clear my lungs," I shout over my shoulder, just loud enough for her to hear over the noise. Then I whisper to myself, voice locked in my ears only as the crowd carries my confessions away, "Figure I should get rid of this damn guilt closing them up and make some room for gunpowder."

* * *

I stare straight into the sun for a moment, inspecting the blob of white, before closing my eyes, watching purple replace the white against the dark background of my eyelids. Then, I do it again, shifting my eyes, drawing patterns with the light trapped beneath the folds of skin. First, it's a box. Then, a circle. Finally, a heart. Maybe there's some deep psychological reasons behind the shapes I choose to burden myself with, or maybe I am just tired. So… very… _tired_. I sigh, fisting the ropes that make up the net holding me above ground, remembering the excruciating pain they inflicted on me just yesterday.

"Fifteen minutes," a voice calls out suddenly from the shadows. If I'm startled, it doesn't manifest itself in my expression or posture. I merely sigh again, eyes still shut, haunted by the image of the sun.

"Was that cryptic message supposed to register with me, Ezekiel?"

I can hear the frown in his voice as he says, "Not cryptic, or a message. Consider it a warning, and the last one at that."

"And just what exactly are you warning me of?"

"Training begins soon, initiate," he belittles, stirring up my irrational anger. "How exactly did you expect to tell time here? You're lucky I found you."

I feel a smirk forming on my lips as I open one eye lazily, directing my gaze towards the sky. I inspect it for a moment, letting the string in my head connect pins. Without looking at him, I answer, "Thirteen."

"Excuse me?"

"You said fifteen minutes… it's thirteen."

Rustling follows my words, the sound of a shirt sleeve being pulled up, and then a sound of indignation. "What the hell, Tris?" he simply replies.

"The sun rises in the East," I mutter, "and sets in the West."

"So?"

I ignore him. "Clouds move overhead. Birds sit on power lines and sing. We're so far in the ground that sometimes we forget these things. People told time before skyscrapers clouded the skyline."

Zeke scoffs. "Now who's being cryptic? You sound like a banjo-strumming hippie, Tris."

"I thought we were better than that," I reply, "than faction slurs and ignorance."

"God, you're a hypocrite." The net shifts under me, and I can tell he's tugging at the edge. "Four told me what happened… I'm trying to see your point of view, but it's really hard to side with you when you act like this."

"You aren't my father."

"You're damn right I'm not, seeing as I'm not an abusive asshole," he replies tactlessly, making me flinch. I steel myself quickly, my own face hardening as Zeke's softens. "I'm not going to say I didn't mean that, because I did. You're my friend, but so is… Four, which means I won't let you barge into this faction and tear him down from the inside for something none of us can change, despite how much we wish we could. Do you see why I'm taking his side?"

I scoff. "It's okay. I don't like me very much, either."

He groans loudly and tugs harder, effectively rolling me towards him before hauling me up by the armpits and depositing me on the floor. With a firm, grounding grip on my shoulders, he says, "Stop it. Stop with this self-pity, or this blaming of others, or whatever weak, cowardly thing is possessing you to be someone other than the Tris I know and love. Because _this…_ this is not her."

I am stunned silent for a moment, which is good, because it allows Zeke's words to soak through my skin and into my brain. My eyes widen, watering as it sets in. "God, I'm a bitch, aren't I?"

He sighs, shaking his head. Every muscle in his face relaxes suddenly, and his eyes shine with tears. "I… I loved your mother. She was like a second family to me. And it hurt, what happened to her. It hurt all of us. And maybe I can't understand what you went through, what you're _still_ going through, but what I can understand is that—" he looks around, satisfied that there is no one around, "— _Tobias_ was also hurt, and he is still hurting. You know what happened was a freak accident, and that the risk he took was… was worth it. And maybe if he hadn't missed, if he'd rid the world of that sick son of a bitch he calls his father…"

"It's not that easy," I remind him, voice quiet, all my impudence drained from my body with his heartfelt speech. "It was his hand that pulled that trigger, his gun that fired the bullet, but it was _my_ parent who hit the ground, not his."

"That's not fair, and you know it. Natalie was his mother, too. And I hate to say this, but… I think she would be disappointed in you right now, that you are letting this keep you two apart. She saw something there—" he trails off, and I don't question his train of thought. I don't want to know. "Look, all I'm saying is that you either forgive him, or you don't. It's been two years since you last saw him; you've had enough time to think. Don't lead him on, and don't break his heart any more than you have to."

"Catch-22," I retort.

"Maybe so," he admits. "Maybe no one wins… or maybe everyone does. And Tris, despite everything I just said, you know I love you, right?"

I swallow, force against the knot in my throat, before turning my face back up to the sky. "Eight minutes," I say.

He smiles. "Let's get going, then. It's a long way back to where we started."

* * *

Blood beats through the thick skin at my fingertips as they fumble with the puzzle pieces that make up a handgun, and its source races with the speed of a bullet. My intestines feel all twisted up, and the deep breaths of air sliding down my throat are the only way of untangling them. The sick taste of vomit lingers at the back of my mouth, just shy of bursting, and I swallow again.

It didn't feel like this the first time, when I was all alone in the comfort of my and Tobias' cave; I suppose back then, I didn't have Eric's stony glare locked on the back of my head like a sniper's aim, or the other boy in question avoiding my eyes like the plague.

Will cheers triumphantly beside me as he loads the magazine and slides it into place with a satisfying click. I smile at him encouragingly, and he shoots me a pitying look as he eyes the pathetic excuse for a gun I have assembled. Unluckily for me, Will is the first one finished, drawing the attention of Eric (if I didn't already have it for some unidentifiable reason) over to our area.

"Let me see, initiate," the blond-haired leader demands gruffly, snatching the gun from Will's hands. He appraises it, giving it a once-over that seems to give him all the information he needs, and he nods approvingly, almost impressed. "Good. Now take it apart and do it again." Will nods and gets to work, a small hint of a smile on his face at the subtle praise. Then the stony leader turns to me, and the blood in my veins turns to ice.

I look away from him nervously, focusing on getting the slide of my gun locked in. Slick with sweat, a concoction of nerves, relentless physical training and the blazing sun beating down on us where we stand on the roof, my hands slip, hitting sharp metal, and blood comes pouring from my palms. I curse under my breath, from inconvenience rather than pain (and maybe a little embarrassment), fumbling for a cloth. Then, a sound fills the spacious rooftop from one corner to the other.

Eric's loud, trenchant laughter may very well be worse than his quiet, conspiring glare.

"Dock the Stiff a handful of points, Four," Eric chuckles obnoxiously, picking up the bloodied gun. "Say, does this qualify as vandalism of Dauntless property?"

"It'll come off," Tobias replies, seemly disinterested, without making a move to dock me any points. His eyes meet mine, a marble of concern and bitterness, the latter of which may be the only one I deserve.

Eric's smile fades. "Are you defending her?"

"Of course not," he replies, face hardening. Then, after a barely-visible moment of hesitation, he pulls out his tablet and swipes across the screen. Meeting his colleague's satisfied smirk with a glare of his own, he adds, "You don't call the shots here, Eric. _I_ do. I docked her points because she deserved it." His smirk drops, and Tobias kindly asks him to check the gun storage for extra ammunition, a veiled command that reasserts his authority.

I try not to dwell on the fact that Tobias' words hurt me more than the stinging in my palm.

After the attention-attracting spectacle that is Eric disappears down the stairs, Tobias slowly makes his way over to me, stopping at each station on the way to assess the initiates' work in his firm but not unkind manner. He praises Will, but not without gently advising him not to get overconfident in his abilities, and suddenly he is in front of me, watching me grapple for purchase along the slide of the gun, palms slippery with sweat and blood, cursing ardently under my breath.

"Stop," he commands quietly enough that only I hear him, as well as Will and Christina on either side of me. "You'll never get anywhere — not like that." My efforts still, gun cold against broken skin, and Tobias cocks his head towards the corner, asking me silently to come with him. I nod, depositing the gun on the table and following his lead after a quick, reassuring smile to Christina, whose eyes seemed to be asking a million and one questions.

In the corner, mostly hidden from sight by the rising platform that houses the stairs, Tobias pulls out a first-aid bag and takes my hand gently, tenderly, but with a distanced coldness in his eyes. "You really do need to be more careful," he whispers, steel connecting his words to my ear. It's not hard to tell that he's speaking of Eric, and not the red liquid oozing from my skin.

"He's got some weird obsession with me," I remind him as he pulls out a roll of bandages. I try not to cringe away; I've seen enough bandages already. "Do you think he saw us yesterday, in the dining hall?"

"I think he saw _something_ ," Tobias replies, a biting tone to his voice, as he drags a rag across my palm. I hiss at the sting, and he apologizes emptily. We stand as far apart as possible for the chosen activity, and the air between us is different, Tobias resigned to an eternity of this, myself desperately clinging to the past. Zeke's words ring in my mind: _all I'm saying is that you either forgive him, or you don't. It's been two years since you last saw him; you've had enough time to think._

Suddenly, it's clear to me in this palpable tension, this unspoken ultimatum forcing our bodies apart; he's right. I either forgive Tobias, or I don't. It will be the same weeks from now, months, years. It's time, now, that I make my decision, whether or not I hold on to the blue-eyed boy who has been my reality since the day we locked eyes in the factionless sector. Whether I stay in the past that has always been so good to me, or I make my own future.

If I'm being honest, the second option can't help but sound better. I want a new future, a future away from Marcus and Andrew, from my dead mother and brother, from hurt and blood and tears, from funerals and from Abnegation. From… Tobias, who was responsible for many of those things.

Maybe it's time to let go.

Tobias lets go of my hand, bandaged to perfection, and steps away from me like he's been burned, like he's somehow heard my inner conflict and the decision I have made. Perhaps he's known it all along, since the moment he pulled that trigger, or maybe since the moment his blood hit sizzling coals, or even since the moment before lunch today when I yelled those terrible words in his face.

It's time to let go.

 _Time to let go._

"Get back to work, initiate," he hisses, pain bursting from his eyes, his face, his body… and then, as suddenly as it appeared, it's gone, all but disappeared from everywhere but that little ember of sorrow in those oceans of blue. "Just _go_."

I do.

And I'm never coming back.

* * *

 **A/N: Okay... I know. You hate me. You ask yourself if this is ever going to end. I tell you... probably not. JK! But seriously, keep holding on. Maybe it'll be worth it in the end.**

 **Thanks for reading! Follows, favs, and reviews much appreciated! I'd love to know: what do you want to see next? I have a plan, but I'd love to incorporate some of _your_ ideas. Let me know!**

 **Lots of love as always, theartlessrose**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

Cold warms me, the churning water of the deadly fissure soaking my pants and sticking them to my skin; it's already warmer than the inside of my body, where ice practically holds me together, fills the deep emptiness that I can't help but be engulfed by for no reason other than something has changed inside of me, and I don't know what it is. I had thought that letting go of Tobias would free my shackled heart and rid me of this… hollowness that has been constantly present for the last five years. I didn't complain before, because it helped me to withstand the hell and torture I was going through, but now I am _free_. Now I don't need it.

But it's still there, and I don't know how to get rid of it.

I pick at the fresh red petals of a rose, tossing them one by one into the chasm's mouth until I realize what I'm doing and drop the rose like I've been burned. Every time I come out here, I find a red rose left on the walkway. Murmuring a soft apology to the flower, I cross my arms across my chest and tuck my hands under my armpits, as though that will stop them from causing harm.

Maybe someday I'll know better.

As the water sputters against my legs, leaving little bruises from its raw force, I close my eyes and lean against the railing. My body protests the cold metal against my warm chin, but I ignore it, letting it drain the warmth from my skin despite the tiny convulsions of my spine. Suddenly, there are eyes on me. A frown marks my face, and my eyelids flutter open.

"You're very quiet," I call out sarcastically, startling the boy behind me.

"I must not be," Uriah replies, "if you heard me over all this noise."

"The chasm certainly is loud. It makes you wonder if the symbolism is worth all the fuss."

He sits down beside me, shaking his head. "I wasn't talking about the chasm."

I blink. "Oh."

"I can practically hear the gears turning in your head," he mocks, rustling my hair. "Got a lot on your mind, little sis?"

"You could say that," I whisper. His smile fades, and his playful eyes turn concerned. Arms snaking around my shoulders, he tucks my head into the crook of his neck and sighs into my hair.

"Who do I need to punch?" he comforts, the quiet tone to his voice almost comically juxtaposing his words.

"Someone you don't want to," I reply.

"Why? Is it someone bigger than me? My brother?" he pauses. "By the way, those were two totally separate things, because you know how small my brother is. I think you might actually be taller than him now, and I've been taller since I was like nine, and Tobias has always—"

"Uriah," I warn.

"Oh," he replies, understanding illuminating his face in the dim light. "Tobias… Do I need to punch Tobias? I certainly don't want to… I mean because he's like my brother, not because he's stronger or bigger or anything and certainly not because I'm scared of him because I'm not and—"

"Uriah!"

He stops, taking an amusingly large breath of air before sheepishly muttering, "Sorry."

"Whatever," I retort, rolling my eyes. "But to answer your question, no. It's not Tobias you need to punch — it's me."

His eyebrows furrow, and he tugs me closer. "You know I won't do that. Why?"

I pull away just enough so that I can see his face. "Your brother came to talk to me today. Well, yesterday, technically."

"What did he say?"

"Just that I've been a bitch lately. Nothing I didn't already know."

He pokes my nose, making me giggle sadly. "So what's got you so worked up, Trissy?"

I glare at him, and he holds his hands up mock-playfully. We settle down, and I pick at the peeling bandage wrapped around my palm. "I spoke to Tobias yesterday. Well, not really. I kind of just yelled at him and then… I decided that I can't do this anymore."

"What do you mean you can't do this anymore?" he exclaims, jaw clenching.

I gnaw on my lip. "I can't do _this_ — going back and forth between thinking I can forgive him and knowing I can't. It's exhausting, Uri. More exhausting than training through the pain of a thousand years of abuse."

His eyes well up, and when he speaks, it's through what sounds like a knot the size of a tennis ball. "I hate that you went through all of that. I hate that I couldn't do anything."

I sigh. "I hate that I can't just forget that it ever happened and move forward. It's everywhere, Uriah. _Everywhere._ "

He stills completely, his arms locking around me like a comforting cage. His gaze meets mine, complete, aware, like he knows the secrets of the universe.

"I get it now," he says. "I understand why you're shutting him out. He reminds you of your past, of everything that happened to you. All the pain, all the screaming and nightmares and hiding while people die…"

"I can't make excuses," I croak, swallowing my tears. "I'm not going to. I'm not a good person, Uriah. I hurt him, I led him on, I told him everything would be okay…"

"Tris—"

"…when nothing's okay and I'm so selfish and I _lied_ to him, I lied to you and to Zeke and especially to Christina…"

"Beatrice Prior!" he yells, grabbing a hold of my shoulder. I stop rambling, holding onto his arms and taking long, shaky breaths.

"I'm not a good person," I repeat quietly to myself.

"Then change," Uriah replies. He doesn't try to comfort me, or tell me that what I've said isn't true, yet somehow it's the only right thing to say. We meet eyes, and I nod slowly.

"Okay."

After a moment of silence, he speaks again. "You don't have to forgive him to change, you know."

After another moment of silence, I reply. "I know."

"Are you going to?"

I hesitate. "I…"

"Tris, you don't have to forgive him, but you do have to make a choice."

I swallow loudly again and turn away from him, staring into the eyes of the abyss. "That's just it, Uriah — I think I already made that choice. I just don't know if I like what I chose."

He puts his hand on top of mine. "Unfortunately, Tris, I think what's done is done. Even Tobias will have had enough eventually, and I think this is it. Whatever you chose…"

"I'm going to have to live with it," I finish. We sit for another moment, and the silence of it tells Uriah all he needs to know about what my decision was. He sighs, retracting his hand, but keeps one arm around me.

"I won't say I agree," he concludes, "but I will say that I understand."

I nod, and he stands up, offering me his hand. As I take it, something occurs to me. "How did you know I was here?" I ask him.

"I didn't," he replies.

"Then why—"

"I've got some choices to make, too, and this is prime thinking real estate." He sighs, rubbing his temples.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"Not right now, but soon," he promises, smiling his half-smile.

"Ok," I agree, knowing he'll come to me when he's ready. He squeezes my hand before dropping it and waves before walking away in the direction of the Dauntless-born dorms. Before he gets too far, I call out his name, and he turns around.

"Just some advice for those choices you need to make?" I begin, leaning against the cold rails of the chasm. "Be careful, Uriah."

He nods solemnly, and then he's gone, and I'm left alone again, the noise of the chasm drowning in that of my thoughts.

 _Careful, Tris._

* * *

The next morning is the same as the last, except this time it is Eric who wakes us up by banging on the railings, and this time there is no Tobias waiting for me with breakfast when I leave the shower to an empty dormitory. This time, I don't have time to eat something before training, and this time, we do hand-to-hat combat instead of fitness trials.

So, really, the second morning is nothing like the first, except for the fact that we all wake up to the same cold, rusted ceiling over our heads in the same cold, obnoxious manner and shower in the same cold, excruciating water.

Then again, it was me who asked for change.

By the time training ends, my stomach is convulsing in a way that levels the pain in my back from when Eric kicked my knees out from underneath me and I landed on the cement. Maybe I could take on any one of the initiates and win, with the exception of maybe Edward who's been training for just as long, if not longer, but Eric is a different story — he's seasoned, strong, but most of all, cruel. All the same, whenever I look at him, all I can think about is Tobias telling me that he's not a bad man.

Eric is a curious fellow, and that's all I really know about him.

As the initiates file out of the training room for the dining hall, Christina wipes the sweat off her forehead and wrings out her shirt. "I think we might need to go shopping later today," she jokes, motioning to her ruined outfit. "Combat does a number on fashion."

"I think that's a good idea," a voice replies — not mine, but Tobias'. Christina's eyes widen as she stares at him, and his lips turn up oh-so-slightly at the corners. "Head down to the Pit after your first fights and explore. That's the way of Dauntless, after all."

Christina nods quickly, almost resembling a puppet, and if I wasn't so uncomfortable, I would laugh. "Thanks for the advice, sir," she replies — I can tell she's still terrified of him from the first day. Maybe rightly so.

"You should eat lunch before the fights. Something light, of course," Tobias advises. "I'll send Tris your way in a moment."

She nods again, still wide-eyed, and scurries out of the room, leaving me with him. I face him, crossing my arms over my chest. "What is it, Four?"

"The tapes are frozen. It's weird hearing you call me Four," he confesses. "But don't worry, Tris, I'm not here to change your mind. Not about yesterday."

I bite my lip. "You know, I never actually said anything." _You're treading on thin ice, Tris_ , I hear Uriah say in my mind.

"You didn't have to," he replies, but there's still hope in his voice. He wants me to confirm or deny… so I nod.

"You're right," I finish. "I didn't have to."

That's that.

He visibly deflates, but covers it up with a cough. "I already told you, that's not what I asked you to stay for."

"Then what?"

"Your hair," he says. "You need to get it cut."

I reel back, clutching my hair in my hands. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Tobias…" I collect myself. "You know I haven't had anyone to cut it since…"

"Yes, I know," he replies, eyes softening for only a moment. "But you're in Dauntless now, and there are shops for that sort of thing, people who will do it—"

"No! I won't let anyone else…" I trail off before I can fall in too deep.

"You know I wouldn't ask you to do this if I didn't have to. Especially because of… but it's too dangerous here to have hair that long. Someone could use it against you in a fight."

"I could tie it up."

"It wouldn't matter," he concludes. "You don't know how ruthless these fights get, especially when the stakes are as high as they are. These initiates may be your friends, but Dauntless fights bring out the worst in people. You've never seen one."

"No, I haven't," I agree. "But, Tobias, you know I've seen worse." He stumbles back, catching himself on a tattered punching bag that blends right in with his t-shirt.

With the following flash of emotion in his eyes forever ingrained in my memory, I turn on my heel and walk out the door, wishing that I didn't have to turn around and walk right back.

* * *

After lunch, on our way back to the training room, all the initiates walk together in a sort of nebulous cluster. Christina asks me who I think I'll be paired up with for the first fights. I look around, eyes landing on each individual as I remember the conversation I had with Tobias, but I can't come up with even a guess. On one hand, Tobias could try to give me someone easy, someone he knows I can beat, but on the other hand, he knows I could take even some of the best of us. Plus, I've been itching to punch Peter since he did the same to me when I was seven.

"Could be anyone," I reply.

Honestly, no matter who I get paired with, I just want to fight. I want to prove to these people that I'm strong, that I've trained, that I'm going to make it here, and this is how I'm going to do it… so imagine my disappointment when we arrive and the board tells me that I'm sitting out.

Tobias catches my eye from across the room, but looks away just as quickly. Blood boils beneath my skin as I take my place on the bench while the first pair takes to the ring in the center of the room.

"Ugh, Tris, you're so lucky! I have to fight The Tank, and you get to sit out! Man, I wish I didn't have to…" Christina rambles on in my ear, and I tune her out, nodding whenever she pauses and inserting random head nods. Instead, I watch the others fight, examining their strategies, their weaknesses, the angles of their bodies as they throw punches and kicks.

When it's Christina's turn to fight, she forfeits in the first thirty seconds. It's the shortest fight logged so far, and honestly, I'm not surprised when Eric drags her out to the chasm and makes her hang onto the rails. I am surprised, however, at what he does next.

"She's slipping!" Lark cries out, lunging forward to grab her. Eric juts out his arm, trapping the Amity behind him. I can see the tears streaming down Lark's face, but I'm all the way on the other side, so I can't even comfort him.

Everyone else's eyes are locked on Christina, except for mine. Mine are fixed on the stopwatch in Eric's hand. It's down to four minutes, one left.

Christina is about five seconds away from falling to her death, still with sixty left to hang, when Eric clears the face of the watch and clicks it manually, faking the end of five minutes. No one notices, too fixated on Christina's feat, except for me.

"Time's up, initiate," he calls out, withdrawing his arm and letting Lark through to help her up. Edward rushes forward too, helping the small boy lift her from the rails. I don't move, shocked still. Maybe ruthless Eric isn't so ruthless. He grabs Christina's shoulders a little too tightly and glares into her soul. "Next time it's ten, got it?"

She nods violently and shakes in her boots, both from heart-wrenching fear and from the cold of wet clothes sticking to her skin.

Eric smirks before it turns into a glare at the other initiates. "What are you gawking at? Go finish your fights!" They turns and scramble, pawing at each other to escape first, and soon it's just Eric and I left. My eyes meet his, and they can't help but convey some of my disbelief.

He glowers at me, shaking his head. "You like to stay behind places, don't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snap.

"It means that you and Four have an awful lot of discussions about your technique. Are you sure you aren't being… _favoured_?" Bile rises in my throat at the suggestive tone in his voice, and I look away from him, composing myself. It seems I was wrong about him being decent after all.

"Quite sure, sir. Four is probably just concerned, seeing as I'm such a weak _Stiff_."

Eric analyzes me, looking me up and down for a moment. "Hmm. Maybe that's all it is." He narrows his eyes. "Go back to training, initiate."

So I do, and without hesitation.

* * *

"Where is _this_ coming from? Not that I'm complaining. It's just you've never really been the shopping kind of girl," Christina comments happily as we stroll through the Pit. She had recovered from the incident just about immediately after I mentioned that I wanted to go shopping after fights.

"Just what you said after combat training, you know, that we should get some more practical workout clothes," I reply, conveniently forgetting to mention Tobias.

"Excuse me, I never said we needed _practical_ clothes, just that we needed _clothes_. Now come with me, we're going dress shopping." She hauls me from store to store for the next few hours, until I finally make the excuse of going to do some of my own shopping and escape.

It only takes me a few minutes to find the hair salon.

The inside isn't crowded; in fact, the place is almost empty. I see some Dauntless-born initiates in the corner getting colours put into their hair, one woman with a mane the colour of an unripe banana, and some workers with just as creative dos. One comes up to me, a woman of around twenty, and pulls me into a soft black chair in front of a mirror. I tell her quickly what I want and she sets to work.

"Transfer, right?" she guesses, chewing loudly on something and pulling out a pair of scissors. I confirm between clicks of her jaw.

"How did you know?"

"One hint was that your hair is longer than anything I've ever seen here in Dauntless. Seriously, it's past your waist! You must have been Amity. Am I right?"

"Abnegation, actually."

She curses loudly, and then laughs. "Of course you are. Shoulda guessed — you keep looking away from that mirror right there." She picks up the scissors, and I wince. Her eyes soften. "There a reason you been growing this here mop?"

"My… my mother used to cut my hair."

"Ah. She not coming to see ya on Visiting Day?"

"No, definitely not," I reply, swallowing loudly. "She, uh, she died a couple years back."

Her hand stills, and she places a hand on my shoulder, meeting my eyes in the mirror. "Thanks for letting me cut your hair today. I lost my father when I was a little one, so I can imagine how much this means to ya."

I smile at her gently, and she walks me through the process, letting me know whenever she's going to cut. Eventually, I stop looking in the mirror and just stare at the floor, watching the golden locks gather on the tiles. Finally, once she's finished, I look up into the mirror. My hair, which was once down to my waist, now extends to just past the gentle curve of my chest. There are no bright colours, no extreme designs. It's just my hair, like it used to be.

I don't gasp, laugh, or cry when I see my face again. I don't grasp for the hair where it's not or run my fingers through it. I just stare, the smallest hint of a smile on my face; maybe I've lost something bigger than a foot or two of hair, like the last connection I had to my mother, but I have gained the ability to move on. Because if I can let go of her, then I can let go of everything.

As I stare unabashedly in the mirror, I don't even pause to think about whether or not that's a good thing.

* * *

 **A/N: I've got some exciting news... there's a spin-off to this story in the works! In a couple of chapters, I'll announce the name and summary of the new story! In other news, that's the end of this chapter. What do you guys think? I hope you enjoyed! Special thanks to those who read and reviewed the last chapter, as well as this one, and to anyone who followed/favourited me or this story. Also, I just realized that this is the first post of the year, so HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE! May your 2019 be the best year you've ever had.**

 **Thanks for reading! I'd love to know: what do you want to see next? I have a plan, but I'd love to incorporate some of _your_ ideas. Let me know!**

 **Lots of love as always, theartlessrose**


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